


An Album

by SheisaCShelz



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: F/M, Mostly Branch&Poppy fluff, Oneshot collection, Post-Movie, Pre-Movie, fluffy plot bunnies, rough writing, sappy sugar/sugary sap, scene dump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 28,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheisaCShelz/pseuds/SheisaCShelz
Summary: #24: The 10% of Broppy that isn't them fighting over things like parties and safety and pets.Here are a few of the 10 million little moments I want to see that didn't happen during the movie.  I feel like I have to add that these are all rough drafts and it's more a scene dump than anything else.FYI, this will likely ignore the series because, a, I am busy college student with no time to watch tv, b, the animation is decent but a little disappointing... and, c, from what I've seen of it, the plots are a little too shallow/fast-paced for me to really enjoy.





	1. Glitter Grump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy started putting the glitter in his invitations when it became apparent that they would have to be spectacular for Branch to come. Apparently the glitter isn't working, but she isn't ready to move on quite yet. Branch's glitter-covered-grumpy-face is just too irresistible and she wants a picture.

Poppy started putting the glitter in his invitations when it became apparent that they would have to be marvelously, mind-blowingly SPECTACULAR for Branch to come. Apparently a singing, pop-up scrapbook invitation that sprayed delightfully sparkly glitter at you wasn’t spectacular enough because nothing had worked to date. Sadly this was the most spectacular she could get at the moment until she figured out how to make the little trolls dance.

But in the meantime she wasn’t ready to trash the glitter thought quite yet. It was just too amusing.

“Biggie, you know what to do?” she whispered to the large troll hidden in the foliage.

“You bet I do, Poppy!” he sort-of whispered back. “Don’t we, Mr. Dinkles?”

“Pew,” squeaked the glowworm.

Poppy grinned. “Great!” Biggie was maybe not so good at hiding, but he was an amazing photographer and Poppy was sure they could keep Branch distracted long enough. “Just make sure he doesn’t see or hear you,” Poppy advised before hopping over to their other friends. “Okay, everyone ready?”

“I don’t get why you’re inviting him,” Chenille complained, even as they all scurried into formation.

Poppy pulled a face. “Come ON, guys, everyone deserves to be happy! Including grumpy bridge trolls like Branch.”

Cooper and Guy Diamond were exchanging skeptical looks behind her back, she could feel it.

“But you know he’s going to say no,” Satin pointed out as she grabbed her hand.

Poppy shrugged, trying not to let her irritation with her friends show. “And maybe this will be the first time he doesn’t. You don’t _know_ ,” she insisted, “until you _try_. So, a five-six-seven-eight!”

_It might seem crazy, what I’m ‘bout to say~_

Cooper’s voice cracked as he tried not to laugh. The twins smirked. Smidge grinned. Guy Diamond’s voice slipped a little. Poppy cackled on the inside.

_Sunshine, she’s here! You can take a break~_

The official name of the song was ‘Happy.’ It was their very own composition, the product of a late night that consisted of more sugar than sleep. Their little troupe preferred to call it the Summoning Song, and sure enough, at the very first chorus:

_Because, I’m, HAPPY------_

_Clap along, if you feel like a room without a roof!_

“Hey guys, fantastic singing, really, really spectacular. Although Chenille you’re a little sharp today, still practicing I take it?”

Everyone cut. Chenille, who had been a little sharp because nobody had discovered how to sing and laugh at the same time yet, glowered a little.

“Because you shouldn’t.”

Everyone groaned. Poppy’s irritation flared.

Branch stomped forward. “No seriously, you shouldn’t! I can hear you all the way from my bunker, and it’s _soundproof_!” he snapped, eyebrows rising on the last word.

“Branch!” Poppy cut in, making sure to make her smile extra cheerful. Maybe a little of the cheer would spill over. “We were just looking for you!”

A few snickers broke out behind her. From the corner of her eye she could see Guy Diamond making spooky witch hands as though he were summoning something from deep within a pot. She pretended she hadn’t seen it.

Thankfully, Branch glared at her, mouth firmly twisted in a frown, and pretended he hadn’t seen it either.

“Soooo…” Poppy bit her lip in anticipation. “I’m hosting the Party of the Month of Artsy tonight, and I wanted to give you your invitation.” She didn’t squeal, but it was a near thing.

“You know I’m going to say no, right.”

“You don’t _know_ ,” Poppy insisted for the second time that hour, “until you _ask_. So Branch…”

She marched up to him, determined. He crossed his arms and pinned her with a bored look. It felt like a script. They’d summon him with a song so happy and loud he would have to complain about it. He would come and complain. There would be a brief argument between her and everyone else (including Branch!) on whether or not she should invite him. Then she invited him. Then he destroyed her invitation.

But she was deviating a little today. Her heart pounded as she pulled the hand-crafted invitation out. It was a little fatter than usual, packed with a little more extra glitter than she ordinarily used.

She cleared her throat, smiled, held it out, and snapped it open.

A little pink troll popped up. It was dancing with a little grey troll, something that Poppy really, really wished would happen someday soon. On the one hand she was sure it was going to be painful – Branch would probably be all spastic arms and stomping feet and she had a roll of tape and some ice for when he gave her black eyes and broken toes. But she was sure they could turn him into a good dancer.

They just had to get him to dance first.

_Come on, friend, come do the Hamster Dance!_

Aaand-

Poppy’s smile widened a little as the glitter sprayed all over his face.

So well-versed in his part was he, Branch didn’t so much as blink.

Poppy opened the invitation a little wider, and the last bit flew out in a tiny stream, not quite making it across the gap. Darn.

Biggie’s camera snapped and Branch’s ear twitched. “What was that!”

“I GOT IT! I GOT IT, POPPY!” The big blue troll lumbered out of the weeds, Mr. Dinkle under one arm and a photo in the other hand. His camera swung from his neck.

Branch’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment as Poppy skipped up to her biggest, bestest friend who had just gotten her the bestest picture EVER!

“It’s AMAZING!” she sang, prompting everyone to gather around, and Chenille and Satin shrieked with laughter.

Branch scowled, still covered in glitter as Smidge fell over, convulsing with laughter. Cooper was trying to mimic his expression. They were…they were all mocking him!

“Don’t worry, Branch, we won’t share it with anyone!”

He stomped off angrily, hurt and not expecting them to keep that promise at all. But the hurt healed a little when he found the invitation tucked into his pack and when time wore on and no one laughed at the sight of him. Maybe this was one of those ‘friend things’?

Eventually, he let the glitter cover his face every time Poppy opened up one of her fantastic – fantastically annoying – invitations once again and gave her the bored face she apparently liked so much.

He never saw the picture again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Until one night, when they were traveling back to the Valley. Branch was a bit of a hoarder, and wanted to bring his things to the Troll Tree. To the complete surprise of absolutely no one, Poppy cheerfully volunteered to help, followed by all of her troupe.

That night, Poppy snuggled into her sleeping pod and whipped out her collapsible picture frame as always.

She scowled at the sight of Creek and the little hearts in the corner. To think she had ever had a crush on him…

“Branch!”

Everyone froze and looked at the angry pink troll. Branch raised an eyebrow and tossed a few more sticks on their fire before walking over, purplish-blue hair shining in the light.

Poppy smiled sweetly and held out the picture. “Branch, I have a little favor to ask…”

Smiling just as sweetly, eyes never leaving hers, Branch tenderly took the little frame. It made her heart beat a little faster-

Then he snatched her scissors out of her hair and faster than she could see, snipped Creek’s picture away and dropped it in the fire like it was nothing.

The silence spoke volumes as Branch headed back to his spot. Poppy stared down at the next picture, Furbert, and gently ran a finger around the inside of the empty frame.

“Feels terrible, doesn’t it?” Cooper asked after a moment.

“He was our friend,” Satin sighed. “It hurts.”

“He was creepy,” Chenille disagreed. “At the end, when he acted like it was all okay…like selling us out to the Bergens and running out of glitter at daycare were the same type of sad.”

“He always cheered us up,” Biggie said. “Mr. Dinkles glowed a little more brightly around him.”

Guy Diamond hugged his knees. “I thought he was so wise. He always gave such good advice.”

“We all really looked up to him,” Smidge concluded.

The circle looked to Poppy. Poppy didn’t really know what to say.

“Hmph,” Branch grumped from his blanket and crossed his arms. “Don’t expect me to say anything nice about him. The guy was always a condescending donkey’s arse towards me.”

The circle gasped.

“Oh my God.”

Branch looked at them defiantly. “Yeah. I said it. And he was a condescending buttface to you guys, too,” he added. “You’re just nice enough, you didn’t care enough to notice.” He wrinkled his nose. “One of those friend things I guess.”

The circle was silent as everyone processed that thought a little.

“Hey, Biggie, you should take a picture of Branch and Poppy could put that in instead,” Cooper suggested.

Biggie brightened. “Yeah! Yeah, he’s our newest friend and he’s not on there yet! Come on, Branch, picture time!”

Branch almost made a run for it out of habit but, but why was this such a bad thing? He liked the thought of being on Poppy’s friend-frame, and let the big troll haul him up to his feet and drag him to the fire. He stole a glance at Poppy-

“Poppy!” Branch started. What’s that look for?”

“A-hem,” Poppy cleared her throat. “Well, you know, since we’re all friends now…I guess…you won’t mind if I show you…”

She pinned Branch with a sheepish look and set the frame down. Just as Branch had seen the other night, the frame extended so that Chenille and Satin were on the left. Furbert and Biggie were on the right. Above them were Smidge and Guy Diamond. Above Guy Diamond was Cooper.

Then she reached behind Cooper’s photo…

And there was That Picture. Some glitter flowers with hearts for petals decorated the corner.

There was a slightly stunned silence.

“I think I’ll keep it but I still want a new one,” Poppy decided. “Biggie! If you would please take Branch’s After Picture…”

When everyone gathered around to see her newly-completed picture frame, they oohed.

“Nice job, Biggie!” Guy Diamond complimented. “That, my friends, is talent.”

“Oh my God.” Smidge stared.

“Firelight’s a good look for you, Branch,” Chenille observed. Poppy privately agreed wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, almost as good as glitter!” Cooper crowed.

Poppy also agreed that glitter was an excellent look for Branch, but kept this to herself. Purely in the interest of Cooper’s health, Poppy looped an arm around Branch’s neck and gave him a little hug. “I love them both.”

An arm made its way around her waist and hugged back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd draw Branch's portraits if I had any art talent. And time. But I don't.


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy meets a troll of indeterminate color when he screams at her for singing so loudly. Branch meets a pink troll who can make him forget everything. It's a problem.

The voice…was vibrant. It was beautiful in the way it brimmed with rich tones and volume. The timbre pulled a chord that left him breathless. The unbridled happiness behind it hugged his soul like a fleece blanket. A calm that he had sorely missed replaced sadness with content, filled some empty part of him and stretched from his toes to the tip of his hair.

The moment, in a word, was enchanting.

Then the hair on the back of his neck prickled and before he even finished turning around he screamed in terror at the sight of a phantom hand, gargantuan and the color of mold, grasping at him from behind. The claws were a mere inch away-

“Oh my God! Are you alright?!”

Branch panted for a moment, the horrible sight dissolving as his eyes refocused on the dark forest lit by moonlight. His mushrooms scattered around his feet. The troll with the amazing voice in front of him.

Anger rushed through him.

“What were you doing,” he said. The words were curt and crisp, pointed like freshly-sharpened knives.

The pink troll looked very confused. “I was-I was just singing-“

Sarcasm took over. “Oh, you were just singing?” Acid dripped from his words.

“Did you, did you not like it?” the girl tried, stammering some.

_I loved it!_ his heart sang. Branch’s mouth twisted into a feral snarl.

“I _ha-ted_ it,” he pronounced with such vehemence that the pink troll gasped and stumbled away. “You were ‘just singing’?” He twisted his head on the last two words, voice hitting a soprano pitch in mockery. “You were just drawing every single living creature like a shining PIECE of BACON!” Branch yelled, stomping his foot and pointing.

The pink troll backed away some more. “I-I-“

“You’re going to get eaten!” Branch screamed, gesturing wildly. “Someday, you’re going to be off in your little la-dee-da world and-,“ he opened his arms wide like a mouth and then brought them together, “-CHOMP!”

The girl screamed.

Branch stopped, breathing hard, glaring at the pink troll across from him. She looked scared. She should be scared, but she was scared of him and he didn’t want to be the scary thing in the dark. He didn’t want to do this.

“Just leave me alone,” he muttered, unable to meet the girl’s fearful eyes, and stomped off in the direction of his bunker.

He slipped into the shadows, blending in effortlessly, and sadness overwhelmed his anger revealing the ugly feeling underneath. He had been terrified. For a moment, just one moment, he’d been lost to her music and anything could have come up behind him and grabbed him. Grabbed her. He’d sworn he’d never, ever get so lost again, and then this little troll with her amazing voice and her amazing heart and _a-maz-ing_ timing (sarcasm entirely intended) had skipped in and-

And here he was. There she was.

From the shadows of the foliage, Branch turned around and peeked at the young pink troll standing, stunned, in the little clearing. She was staring vacantly at his mushrooms.

He didn’t really know what he thought of her. She made him lose his head. She made him lose all his senses in the best possible way, and he hated that. It – she – gave him a heart attack.

But he did know she was going to get eaten someday. It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I envision their first meeting :D  
> Thanks to everyone who kudoed and commented! Your encouragement means a lot to me :)


	3. The Grey Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch grumps, tries not to let anyone get eaten, and worries about the day the Bergens will find them. It's what he does. Little kids get into trouble, run their mouths, and hug things. It's what they do.

The class pod was dark. A single, dim light illuminated everyone’s faces, making eyes shine and freckles glitter. The kids hugged each other, eyes and ears wide as they stared up at the pink storyteller.

“And then,” Poppy said, leaning forward to stare intently at the kids, “the Bluffruff opened its mouth and out came-“

_Knock knock._

The kids screamed.

Poppy snapped her history scrapbook shut. “Oh! That must be Crick! He’s,” she frowned, “really late actually. Hang on, kids.”

She poked her head out from behind the school pod’s petal. “Hi, Mr. – _Branch?_ ”

The grey troll looked hilariously out of place in the happy heart of the trolls’ civilization. He held himself stiffly, eyes locked on her so that he couldn’t see all the garish colors and overly happy trolls. Every muscle was tense, like he expected something to leap out and pounce on him. His hair was…frazzled-looking. Shiny with slime from whatever his day’s activities had been and it looked like he had gotten it stuck in something.

Branch gave her his most serious look and took a deep breath. “Poppy. I have a situation that requires your immediate attention.”

Poppy stepped out of the pod, officially worried. “What? What’s wrong, what-“

“HI PRINCESS POPPYYYYYY!”

The pink troll’s eyes locked on a tiny figure that had just popped out from behind Branch’s back. It was deep purple with light blue hair that curled back. It was-

_“Crick?”_

“You know Branch too? Isn’t he AMAZING?! He’s a HERO!” her student shouted before diving for the tense troll’s neck and wrapping two tiny arms around him. Hearts practically floated up into the air around him.

Branch went even more rigid and his hands immediately turned into fists. “Poppy, help!”

Poppy rolled her eyes. “Branch, it’s a hug. It’s not going to kill you.”

_“Poppy!”_ Branch’s voice was definitely a little more strangled now.

“Alright, whoa there, Crick, slow down,” Poppy said, reaching out to take him off of the troll who looked about ready to explode at any second.

Crick scampered out of her reach and into Branch’s hair. Poppy bit her lip in sympathy as Branch shivered at the close contact and scowled at her.

GET HIM OFF, he mouthed.

“Your hair is amazing,” Crick breathed, and ah, that explained why Branch’s hair looked like something had been pulling on it. And why he looked so squeamish. A troll’s hair was not something to be played in unless given special permission. It was like someone spontaneously deciding to play with your tongue.

And for Branch, the most closed-off, unaffectionate troll in history, this had to be torture.

“Your hair’s going in my song!” Crick announced.

Poppy stifled a snort of laughter, keeping a watchful eye on Branch. She was starting to get an inkling of what was going on. “Song?”

“Isn’t that what you do for heroes? You sing about them!” Crick cheered. “HE’S GOT THE, huh, EYE OF THE TIGER, AND WHEN HE TAKES FLIGHT, HE DEFEATS ALL HIS PITIFUL RIVALS! HE’S MY, huh, GUARDIAN THROUGHOUT THE DAY AND THE NIGHT, AND HE’S WATCHING US ALL WITH THE EYEEEEEEE…”

Crick leaned down and whispered in Branch’s ear, “…of the tiger…”

Crick yelped when Branch’s ear flicked, lightly bopping him on the nose. “Keep singing like that and-“

“I love it, Crick,” Poppy interrupted instantly, shooting Branch a warning look. “Why don’t you come inside and tell the class all about it? This is a story I’d love to hear.”

“Okay!” Crick cheered, clambering down. Branch immediately relaxed, breathing out a long sigh.

“GAH!”

“Let’s go Branch! Come on, come on!”

“Woah, kid, this is your class, not mine! I’m done with school!”

“Now Branch,” Poppy interrupted, hands on her hips, “don’t fuss. You’re a hero, aren’t you? Public appearances are part of it.”

The daggers he shot her softened a little when she whispered in his ear, “I kept the lights dim today because I was telling the story of Oops and the Bluffruffs. You can slip out soon and no one will notice.”

Crick skipped ahead. “Come on, Branch! GUYS! LOOK!”

Everyone gasped.

“He’s a HERO!”

“Woah…”

“Who’s he?”

“I’ve never seen him before…”

“I don’t recognize that color…he really is a superhero!”

“What?”

“I think that color’s called...guh-rey…”

“Superheroes have special powers!”

“He looks so serious.”

“Sometimes they have tragic backstories too.”

“Does he have a tragic back story?”

“What could be so tragic about someone’s back?”

“Maybe he’s got…a tattle-too!”

“You don’t even know what that is-“

“ATTEN, SHUN!”

Poppy settled against the wall, letting Crick take center stage, and glanced over to her right. Branch was hard to spot despite the fact that he was right there beside her.

“So what happened?” she whispered.

“Kid was dancing up a storm,” Branch whispered back. “He got swallowed by a pitcher plant and is incredibly lucky that I heard him screaming.”

Poppy’s heart beat a little faster even as she relaxed against the petal. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Branch’s eyes were like two lanterns in the dark pod. “Seriously, would you teach them some common sense? Running around singing and dancing willy-nilly is dangerous. You always ignore me when I say it, and then this happens. Why?”

Poppy glared back. “You’re always so insistent that it’s bad. Singing, bad, dancing, bad, having fun, bad! You completely refuse to see the good side!”

Branch scowled. “Singing gets you eaten. Tell me there’s a good side to that!”

“Look, no one’s gotten eaten in fifteen years! We haven’t seen any Bergens! Give it a rest, Branch!”

Clothes rustled and Poppy more felt than saw Branch stand up. “I don’t rest! I stay alert so that things like this don’t happen. And maybe I’m insistent that singing is bad because you’re so insistent that it’s good! You refuse to see the danger!” She caught a glimpse of his face as he cracked the petal open to slip out. “Keep a closer eye on your kids, Princess.”

Poppy hugged her knees, feeling cold.

“-and then, the next thing I knew, I got spat back out and right into the arms of my hero-HEY! Princess Poppy, where’d he go?”

Poppy snapped to attention. “Hmm? Oh, well, you know superheroes. He can’t be superheroing if he’s here now can he?”

Crick nodded sagely. “He’s amazing.”

The other students looked sad. “I wanted to meet him…”

“Oh, don’t worry, everyone, you’ll see him again,” Poppy answered brightly, an idea springing up like a daisy in her mind. She smirked. “You will definitely see him again…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I wonder what Poppy saw too :) We'll see if I get to that bit.  
> Thanks again to everyone who read, kudoed, and reviewed!


	4. Basis of Branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small introspective after moment between Poppy and Branch.

There wasn’t actually a big difference between Colorful Branch and Grey Branch. The new colors deceived a lot of trolls into thinking Branch suddenly adored hug-time and that singing and dancing around the clock were his new Great Purposes in life.

But the truth was, Branch was still Branch. He still avoided hug-time in crowded areas. He still hoarded food and fiddled with locks and tiny traps from junk around the house. He still collected and purified his sweat for reasons Poppy decided she didn’t want to know.

He still held people at arm’s length. Becoming friends with Branch was a process that Poppy had somehow managed to learn in the last ten years, by some strange turn of events. Now she was coaching her own friends through it. You couldn’t walk up to him and expect a hand of friendship. You had to have something in common. You had to have something meaningful to say. You had to have a reason. It was highly unusual.

He was still sarcastic. Poppy perhaps understood his sarcasm best, having been in such despair that she had used it herself. It threw most of the trolls for a loop though. Especially Cooper.

He was still amazingly heartfelt. He could compose pure poetry that squeezed her heart and made her breath short. His words had a depth she’d never heard from anyone else and she felt scared to truly listen to them because she thought she might fall in and _never come up for air_.

He was always sincere. Whether it was sincerely scared or sincerely sad or sincerely happy, his expression never lied. Every expression was beautiful, from the flat I-can’t-believe-you’re-going-to-be-queen-one-day face to the all-too-innocent-may-I face, and the sad I-was-the-one face and the happy you-just-need-someone-to-help-you-find-it face.

He made exceptions for her. Back then, she was the only one who had known the location of his bunker. Now she was the only one who truly knew his worries, his deepest thoughts. She was his confidant, and he was hers.

Anyone who walked up to Branch and didn’t expect the same sardonic, crazy prepared, wise, sensitive troll behind the new blue hair and the content smile was sorely disappointed.

Poppy snuck a glance at the troll across from her and smiled.

As though he had sensed it, Branch looked up from his contraption and grinned. “What’s all this?” he asked, nodding his head at her scrapbook. “I thought you were scrapbooking new plans for the tree. It looks like a camouflage door.”

“It is a camouflage door!” Poppy answered happily.

“Poppy, we live in a giant tree with glowing pods for houses. Where do you want to put a camouflage door?” he asked skeptically.

“I thought it would be good to put it over the entrance to the escape tunnels.”

Branch raised an eyebrow. “Everyone knows where those tunnels are. You’re fooling no one.”

“No one except new people,” Poppy sang. “Do the Bergens know where the entrance is? What if they restart trollstice in the future? Or what if invaders come? There’s always unknowns, Branch!”

The blue troll pretended to wipe away a proud tear. Or maybe it wasn’t so pretend. His eyes did look a little shiny. “Look at you, making emergency plans. You’ve grown so much!”

Poppy grinned at him. “I like that.”

“What? That you’ve grown?”

“Well…” She tilted her head. “I was kind of thinking about how much we’d changed and how much we hadn’t changed. Like, you’re still a paranoid, shut-in, scrapbook-hating monster, right?”

“Absolutely,” came the instant response.

“And people just don’t get that. And I guess it got me thinking. Have I changed? Am I a different person? Are we different people than we were before? Did we…lose something?”

“Well you’re still a bubblegum pink party animal right?” He smirked at her.

Poppy smirked back and tossed some glitter his way. He blew it back at her. “Guess so.”

“You’re just a little more now,” he answered. “Kind of like how I have the emotional range of a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon now. You have the common sense of a ten-year-old instead of, say, a squirrel. Congratulations.”

“Your flattery knows no bounds,” she grinned at him.

“It’s like adding a few more spices to the pot,” he finished, grinning back. “Basically the same, a little different, a little improved…maybe we lost some stubbornness or innocence in your case. But look at what we gained.” He turned back to his work. “Don’t be sad about it, Poppy.”

“As long as you never grow out of the Grumpy Glitter Face,” she agreed. “It’s adorable.”

“You already have a picture of it! That should last you forever.”

“But the real thing’s so much better!”

“I’m going to get taunted forever over this…”

Poppy giggled as she showed him her ideas for a camouflage door and sentries and sprayed him with glitter at the same time. He was trying to give her his patented flat look, but the corner of his mouth tilted upwards in betrayal.

“Yes you are, Branch. Yes you are. Now, what do you think of this schedule…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. History in the Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't have the spirit to climb. It didn't feel right to go back home like the world was all cupcakes and rainbows. It was mildewed gummy worms and shadows. All he wanted was to find a hole, crawl in, and hide from it all. He ended up finding a tunnel.

When he heard his Grandma scream, loud and terrified and high out of his reach, his world shook with such force that it shattered. The illusion of their happiness was revealed and the true fear that dominated their lives suddenly felt electrifyingly real. The trolls weren’t a vibrant, thriving civilization; they were a city under siege, insecure in their own homes and on their own land.

They were like plump, juicy fruits just hanging around and waiting to be harvested by the Bergens.

In that moment, his heart felt like it was dying, like it was shriveling up and being carried away to get devoured. Guilt crushed him because if only he had listened, if only he had been content to stay indoors, if only he hadn’t been so caught up in the music, if only, if only, if only…

His Grandma would still be here. This was all his fault.

And now she was going to get eaten, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He sank to his knees and wept, feeling drained, terrified, and ashamed. He crumpled beneath the weight of their waves, each heartbeat a pulse of pain. This wasn’t like when he got caught with his hand in the glitter jar and got sent to bed early – this was misery. He just wanted to curl up in a hole and wait for something to change, for something to get better. But that was impossible. Nothing short of a force of nature was going to get him up again.

As it was, a force of nature did not give him the courage to get up again – it swept him away.

The rainstorm was paltry to a Bergen, but the fat raindrops carried a screaming little troll easily, the water rushing over the ground and sinking, sinking-

When Branch came to, he was sopping wet. He was also very, very lucky he hadn’t drowned.

But he hadn’t. Here he was, smelling moist earth and worms. The water was gone. So was the tree. So was…his jaw dropped.

There. That was Bergentown. That brown, rocky spire in the distance. His gaze fell to the tunnels before him. Then back to the town. Then back to the tunnels.

He gasped.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

With no one else in the room, King Peppy sighed and rubbed his temples. Trollstice. It was a day away. It was tomorrow, and today was drawing to a close.

His precious princess slept peacefully in his hair. Her soft breath tickled his scalp and both comforted and terrified him as he made his way from the throne room, passing by the branch that led to their pod. He tried not to quail as the kingly statues along the hall, statues of his family from his father to the ancients, stared down at him.

Him, King Peppy. A King in his prime yet powerless to stop 64 of his trolls from getting eaten tomorrow.

His Grandfather would have been so ashamed. King Perky was renowned for the treaty he had signed with the Bergens – renowned for the strength and cunning he had wielded and the way he had forced the Bergen King’s hand. Father had followed in his footsteps, tightening the noose, placing more restraints and restrictions, saving more lives.

And then there was him. He had done…absolutely nothing. Because he didn’t know what to do. There was no path, no way he could guarantee safety for everyone. The treaty was maxed out; push any further and, on some instinctual level, he knew the Troll Tree would become a Snack Tree. They couldn’t leave; the Bergens would eat them on the way out. They couldn’t hide; the Bergens would rip the whole tree down to find them. They were trapped, like rats on an island.

He tried not to look hopeless as he stepped into the heart of their Tree. There were…many, many Trolls there.

“King Peppy,” one troll greeted him.

“Acai,” he answered, nodding back. “I’ve come here to pray.”

“Everyone has,” the acolyte answered. “We all hold great fear and hope for tomorrow.”

Together, they looked down at the crowd. To anyone else, the sight would have looked bizarre – a great, nonsensical hole sat in the heart of their tree, black as night. A temple of wood and opaque fabric encased it. Murmurs saturated in fear rose up from the assembled trolls as they waited to enter the temple’s chambers and say their prayers in the face of the Gate. Acolytes managed the lines, their distinctively curled, multi-colored hair making them easy to spot.

“Your shoulders bear a weight heavier than anyone else’s,” Acai stated after a moment. “Come, there is one chamber we have not opened.”

King Peppy paused. “Why isn’t it open?”

“It is reserved for those who struggle with negativity,” Acai answered, looking critically at something King Peppy couldn’t see as he opened the curtain. “Take your time.”

King Peppy’s mouth moved silently for a moment. “Thank you.”

Acai smiled and moved away, leaving the King to face the dark abyss. The King took in the other trolls praying from their own chambers around the Gate with a heavy heart before lighting the candles in the corners and settling down into the Butterfly Position of Prayer.

His daughter giggled a little in her sleep and turned over.

“Ancestors,” the King murmured, “I have come today to unleash new negativity in your sacred home. I am sorry.” He swallowed. “Trollstice is tomorrow. Sixty-four people will join you in your war tomorrow. I…cannot save them. I want to. I want to save everyone, but I do not know how. Please, guide me. Give me a sign, a dream, the slightest hint. How can I protect everyone? You are great in your unity and wise in your solidarity,” he recited. “You are experienced. You fight misery and despair every day, and you come out happy and victorious at night. We fight misery and despair here…but I do not know how to win. Not tomorrow. Please, hear my problems and answer…”

Someone screamed. “OH my GOD!”

King Peppy’s eyes popped open. Another scream joined the first. “WHAT IS THAT?!”

“Look what came out of the Gate!”

“Is it an Ancient?”

“It’s a demon! It has escaped!”

“You idiots!” someone snapped. “It’s just a child!”

King Peppy’s eyes locked on a very dirty, very scared-looking troll child standing on the edge of the Gate. “I’m…I’m back? I’m back! I found it!” he cried. “I FOUND IT!”

Silence fell. King Peppy stood and cleared his throat loud enough so that everyone could hear.

The child gasped. “King Peppy! I found a way out!”

His daughter yawned and rolled over, too deep in her sleep to be bothered by all the muffled sounds. King Peppy felt his heart race with hope.

“Where?” he asked.

The child pointed at the Gate. “Right here. It’s a tunnel. It leads to the wilderness beyond Bergentown. I got carried there by the rain and found my way back!”

His mustache tingled. “Everyone! Gather your families! Ring the bells! It is time to hold Council.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Some people thought the child was a demon even after he was cleaned up. He was…grey.

Acai swooped down and snatched him up, glaring. The child instantly curled up and shivered. “He’s Sad,” he snapped at the crowd before gazing with concern at something Branch couldn’t see. “You’re very, very Sad, aren’t you?”

Branch refused to meet his gaze and struggled, wordlessly demanding to be put back down.

“TROLLS!” King Peppy’s voice boomed out. “On this Trollstice Eve, we have a choice! A safe way out of the Tree and into the Wilderness has been found!”

Dead silence answered him.

“Seventy-five years ago, my grandfather King Perky held a Council as we are now, to decide the same thing we must decide now! Do we stay, or do we go?” He paused for a second and looked around to gauge the response. “They chose to stay, because they thought that more of them would die in the Wild than at the Bergens’ hands! But the child Branch tells me that the Bergens…have BROKEN the TREATY!”

The crowd gasped. “What do you mean?” one troll called out.

“His grandmother, Rosie Puff, was taken by a Bergen yesterday morning!” The crowd roared in anger and fear. “It was NOT Trollstice, it VIOLATES the treaty set by King Perky, and we are NO LONGER obligated to stay! WE CAN LEAVE!”

Cheers answered him.

“If they will come and go as they please, then we will fair NO WORSE in the Wild! In fact, we will fair better, because we will make sure that NO TROLL…” King Peppy scowled and held the torch up. “NO TROLL WILL GET LEFT BEHIND!”

“No troll left behind!” the crowd sang. “No troll left behind!”

“Members of my Council, hair up if you wish to leave!”

The decision was unanimous. The Troll Tree was in an uproar. The Bergens suspected nothing as the Trolls left their homes, placing the statues of their ancestors in their place with quick apologies and hopeful prayers, and leapt into the no-longer-so-sacred Gate as dawn broke.

It was the dawn of a new time in the Trolls’ history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe! A bit of a very sad Branch and some worldbuilding. Apparently the trolls have a religion based on their ancestors...yep.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Color Matching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creek is sweet and kind, like honey. Branch burns her constantly, like fire. Poppy's choice is easy...no seriously...easy as pie...darn it, Suki!

Everyone gasped.

Satin leaned forward. “No way! Ew! EWWW!”

Poppy bashfully avoided her gaze before mustering up her courage. “What?” she asked defensively.

“ _How_ could you prefer kissing _Branch_ to kissing _Butter_?” Suki demanded. “How, girl?!”

Poppy twisted her fingers inside the hem of her pajamas. “Oh come on! Butter is just…egh,” she described eloquently, shivering a little. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t pick Branch too!”

Her girlfriends all looked at each other.

“I’d pick Butter.”

“Butter.”

“Butter.”

Poppy blinked. “Seriously?”

“Poppy, I think we’d all rather kiss a beetle than kiss Branch,” Chenille said. “The beetle would taste sweeter.”

“And it would be fuzzy!” Satin cried, clasping her hands. “A little ball of fluff.”

“Egh,” Suki shivered. “Just imagine what Branch’s hair would feel like. _Yuck._ ”

Chenille gagged.

Poppy looked around, frowning. “But Butter has an allergy problem! He sneezes, like, every ten seconds. Just imagine it, you’re kissing…and then he sneezes and you’re choking on his spit!”

They all pulled faces.

“Still better than kissing Branch though,” Satin piped up.

“Well.” Poppy crossed her arms and dared to be different. “I’d rather kiss Branch.”

Suki eyed her suspiciously. “Hold the music there, girl…you don’t _like_ him, do you?”

Poppy stared at her, the very thought incomprehensible to her. Slowly, she shook her head.

She must have had a very believable face because the other three fourteen-year-olds sighed in relief before continuing their game.

When they finally settled under the covers for some actual slumber at their slumber party, though, she did wonder what it would be like to kiss Branch, and wondered why she wanted to know. He certainly wasn’t attractive. He wasn’t very nice. They fought over everything like cats and dogs.

But in her imagination, she envisioned him kissing her with passion, returning her fire equally. Her hands would be buried in his hair, his stiff, dark, springy strands wrapped around her fingers. His rough vest would tickle her arms. One of his hands would be at the base of her back, holding her close. The other would be at her neck, tauntingly brushing her hair. The thought sent tingles to the tips of it.

Why did she like this image so much? She wasn’t crushing on him. She was NOT crushing on Branch.

She WAS crushing on Creek, the sweet and cute boy seven branches over. He had the charm of a prince, a positive attitude, and a maturity beyond his years. She wanted to poke all his freckles and play with the curl on the end of his hair. They fit together so perfectly – pink and purple even! He was like honey, and she was drawn in like a bee.

But Branch was like fire, and she thought that maybe she was part moth.

With a soft groan she threw the pillow over her face. “Sukiiiii…”

This was all her fault.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first thing she did after her friends left that morning…was collapse on the couch.

Her father raised an eyebrow as he swung his cloak on. “Sugarplum, why aren’t you bouncing around like usual?”

Poppy groaned and threw the closest pillow over her face. “Tired. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

The king sat next to her. “I thought I told you bedtime was an hour past midnight, sweetheart.” He placed a hand on her cheeks.

“We went to sleep!” Poppy protested. “At least we went to bed. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah, one of those nights,” he nodded, smiling slightly. “Bad thoughts?”

“Just thoughts, Dad.”

“Well.” The king stood. “The best cure for a sleepless night…is a full day! You’ll be too tired to so much as make a peep at the end of it. Up up up!”

“Dad – Daddy!” Poppy laughed, tiredly swatting at his nimble fingers.

“Come, my princess, the day awaits you!” he called, hauling her up and throwing open the door. “Forward!”

So forward she went, and down seven branches to a purple and blue pod.

“Hi Creek!” she smiled excitedly when her crush answered the door.

“Hello, Princess Poppy,” he said, looking happy to see her. That look made her spirits and energy soar. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know if you were free to hang out! I had a late night,” she confided. “And I’m not up to being around a bunch of people. Maybe we could do something, just the two of us?”

This was why she liked Creek, she thought as he led her to a little clearing on the outskirts of the village. It was sunny and calm, outlined by several large rocks.

Poppy frowned when Creek slipped between some and disappeared. “Creek?” A purple hand reached out and snagged her wrist. “Oh-!”

“Well? What do you think?” The purple troll grinned at her, gesturing at the tiny alcove. “I like to come here when I meditate. It sounds like you could use some tranquility.”

I like being alone with you very much, Poppy thought and blushed instantly. Thankfully her hormones only ran rampant in her mind.

“It’s nice,” she said, hopping up on a rock. “I like the sound of meditating. Teach me?”

He climbed up on another rock beside hers. “Happily. Now, take a deep, slow breath. Control it, like you would in singing class. Put your hands here, on your knees, here. Are you comfortable?”

He touched me! an inner juvenile voice screamed with happiness. He put his hand on mine!

She nodded silently.

He smiled at her, freckles glittering in the light. He was so handsome! “Good. Now close your eyes, breathe like I taught you, and try not to think of anything. Think you can do it?”

She nodded vigorously. “Absolutely!”

He waved a finger at her. “Ah ah ah! No thinking, remember? Do, don’t think.”

She giggled and closed her eyes again, peaking a little to see Creek assume the same position and become still effortlessly. He was so amazing.

This was why she liked him, she thought as she settled into a breath. He was witty and willing to share with her, and she knew that she would enjoy being by his side. They weren’t especially close (yet), but he had seen she was upset and comforted her. She could see him being the pillar she would lean against when she was stressed out and the balm that would heal her soul when things went wrong. He always knew how to straighten her out again.

“POPPY!”

Poppy’s eyes snapped open and she whirled around. _“Branch?”_

The grey troll glared at her and immediately her yellow mood swirled into a midnight blue. Branch crossed his arms. “Hello, Princess. Guess what I just found out about.”

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “We haven’t even started singing yet and you’re going to complain?”

“You’re throwing a party for absolutely no reason! There is no holiday, no special event, you’re just planning to expose us for the sake of fun! This is idiocy!”

“I am NOT planning to expose us,” she snapped back, slipping off her rock. “NO exposing is going to happen because there are NO Bergens anywhere near us! Give it up and admit you’re nothing but a paranoid hermit who’s lived with his overactive imagination for far too long!”

His nostrils flared with fury and he stormed across the gap. “I have a point and I sure hope you see it before YOU get EVERYBODY eaten, Princess! You are completely INCOMPETENT!”

“You’re just bitter!” Poppy answered, stomping her foot. “Bitter that everyone is happy except for YOU!”

She paused. They were face-to-face. They were…face to face…like twisted mirror images of each other, neither willing to back down as they went head-to-head, lips an inch apart and-

_“Princess Poppy!”_

Something shook her and Poppy’s eyes snapped open and her head snapped up. She squinted against the light. “Creek?” she asked slowly, trying to regain her bearings. Oh. “Did…did I fall asleep?” THAT was embarrassing.

Creek laughed light-heartedly. “I’d say you’ve got the peace and tranquility part down. But you really aren’t supposed to fall asleep, Princess. Don’t worry, meditation isn’t for everyone. My family just has a long spiritual history so it comes naturally to us.”

Poppy, still feeling flustered that she had been caught sleeping and grateful that the only one who knew her dreams was her, cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Creek. Maybe we could try again another time? When I’m not so sleep-deprived?”

Creek’s smile was charming as he slid off his rock, and he was such a gentleman when Poppy slid off of hers, offering her a helping hand. Branch would never do that.

“Of course, Princess, but would you like me to walk you home? I think you could use a nap.”

That means he likes me, that uncontrollable romantic in the back of her head whispered smugly.

Oh shut up, Poppy answered, too tired to bother. “I’d like that very much, Creek. Catch me if I fall off the branch?”

“Of course, Princess,” he answered, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the tiny place and into the village.

I like Creek, she decided firmly as she collapsed on her couch and threw a pillow over her eyes to block out the sunlight. Creek is good for me. He inspires me. I’d rather kiss Creek than Branch. I’d rather kiss Butter than Branch. I’d rather kiss a _beetle_ than Branch.

And, she added as she drifted off, I am going to hide all of Suki’s records for even putting the thought in my head the minute I get up tomorrow…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slice of drama in Poppy's early teenage years. I'm trying to bridge the gap between their first meeting and their friendship in the movie.
> 
> @Mysterious_Prophetess - Thanks! I figured something had to be keeping the Bergens from snacking on trolls every day, and I figured it wouldn't be some sustainability initiative like smart troll population management on the Bergens' part.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Bonfire Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Poppy forgets just how maddeningly uncooperative Branch can be when he doesn't want to do something. A popcorn story is a good, if incredibly irritating, reminder.

Poppy had forgotten just how maddeningly IRRITATING Branch could be when he really wanted.

“The little troll squealed with delight when the rock turned into a brilliant flower all the colors of the rainbow and turned to his sister!” Smidge said excitedly.

“Branch, don’t you dare-“

“I swear, if you mess this story up like the last ten-“

“Please don’t, I like little Trudy-“

“His sister screamed with terror just before the flower ate them both,” Branch said bluntly.

Their bonfire night? Not so fun anymore.

Poppy handed her raspberry-flavored s’more to Chenille and, smile strained, stomped over to Branch and hauled him up. He rose willingly enough and followed her to the shadows.

“You guys keep going!” she called back. “Branch and I…are going to have a little…chat.”

When they could just barely see the glow of the fire between the trees, Poppy turned, crossed her arms and glared.

Branch mirrored her, his own arms crossed and wearing a smug smirk that made her want to slap him.

“Can I go now?” he asked.

Poppy bared her teeth. “No! What was that, Branch?”

“Just adding a bit of realism to your flights of fancy,” he said innocently.

“You’re completely ruining the mood! Branch, come on,” she pleaded with him. “I got everyone to agree to keep it low key, no singing, no dancing, just for you! Just so you could enjoy yourself! Can’t you at least try to be happy? It’s not that hard!”

Her words bounced off him like rain off a pod, as usual. It made her want to break down and scream in frustration.

“Oh, I tried being happy once,” the grey troll answered, eyebrows raised. “Worst five minutes of my life.” His expression went flat. “I don’t _do_ happy, Poppy. And I find your attempts to be incredibly IRRITATING, to be perfectly honest. There are literally a hundred and one things I’d rather be doing right now.”

Poppy’s hands shook. She was irritating? He didn’t like spending time with them, didn’t like them? That hurt. “Then I’m terribly sorry to have pulled you away from them,” she said coldly. “Have a nice night, Branch, and do try not to get eaten.”

He bowed elegantly, and while she didn’t understand this ‘sarcasm’ thing he kept talking about, she definitely knew when she was being mocked. “As you command, Princess. The same to you.”

Grey was too hard to spot in the dark, she thought as he disappeared almost instantly.

When she got back to the campfire, she must have looked really upset because Fuzzbert initiated an off-the-clock hug-time.

“I’m okay, guys, I’m fine,” she said, trying to laugh it off. Her laugh was a little watery though and she didn’t object when Creek kept her in a one-armed hug after everyone else dispersed.

“Try not to think about him, Poppy. I’ve told you once, I’ll probably tell you a thousand times. Some folks just don’t _want_ to be happy,” he offered. “Take it from me.”

“Hmm,” she mumbled into her knees. She couldn’t imagine it…but she also couldn’t think of any other explanation for the thundercloud that was Branch.

“Alright, people, fresh start!” Satin cheered. “I’ll go first. Once upon a time, there was a pink princess who was the happiest troll in the whole world!”

“She was the kindest troll in the whole world, too,” Chenille continued.

“And the prettiest troll in the whole world!” Creek said, giving her a little shake. She couldn’t help but start to smile.

“She had some of the greatest friends in the whole world who would flatter her endlessly when she was sad.” Poppy shook her head at them.

“But all they said was truth, for none could surpass the fair Princess Poppy in anything!” Smidge proclaimed.

“One day, the Princess met a hideous beast of a troll, his skin a sour grey, his hair dark as smoke.”

“This troll wasn’t just ugly on the outside; he was ugly on the inside too with a heart as shriveled up as a month-old prune that had been left to the flies.”

Satin recoiled from Cooper. “Ew!”

“The years of estrangement left him miserable and paranoid, and the more miserable he became, the more estranged.”

“Then one day…the Beast found the Princess singing the most joyful song, and SNATCHED HER AWAY!”

As the story of the kidnapping of Princess Poppy by a jealous Grey Beast and her rescue continued, Branch scowled and let a foot swing back and forth off the branch high above the campfire. Not so high he couldn’t hear them, but high enough they couldn’t see him and high enough that he could spot any Bergen or other critter drawn in by the light. Not really necessary, but a force of habit at this point, he supposed.

It was coming back to bite him in the butt, he thought as the DJ mimed throwing a super-powered record at the hideous beast.

He knew he wasn’t a very likable troll. He knew he wasn’t a very pretty troll. Of course he’d be the target when Poppy’s friends were trying to cheer her up, and he wondered how much of it was good storytelling and how much they honestly believed was true.

“But despite the Beast’s pleas, Sir Diamond the Sparkly opened his mouth and, in perfect pitch, sang the final note of the musical chord, making the Beast crumple to the floor and releasing the Princess from her ghastly spider-prison!”

Branch missed the next sentence, trying as he was not to snort too loudly.

“A beam of light made them look back, and when they turned around they gasped for there stood the Beast, transformed!”

Branch’s mouth gaped open as he stared down at the pink smudge that was Poppy.

“What? Oh, I, er, uh, he was wearing…get ready…a _smile_. It stretched from one ear all the way to the other.”

“His skin had turned smooth and fuzzy and was a light shade of turquoise, the color of the water on a bright summer’s day!”

Branch’s hand grabbed his arm like he had been electrified.

“His hair was a deep shade of blue, and as soft as a cloud!”

Branch couldn’t care less about the direction of the story now. They weren’t in any danger. And they didn’t want a beast like him around.

Softly, he crept down from his perch and headed for his bunker, hand rubbing his arm where a color he couldn’t exactly remember – something light he was sure, a tint of blue – used to shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good story for a twisted Beauty and the Beast AU ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always!


	8. Near and Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy finds a memory of her mother and is inspired to visit the little memorial the trolls keep. Then she finds Branch and a hair-raisingly civil conversation ensues.

She found the card buried on her dad’s dresser. The corner that peaked out looked so feminine and swirly that she couldn’t resist tugging it out.

When she did, it became very clear that this card didn’t really belong to her father. It was decorated with elegant swirls and scrapbooked flowers. A few bees flew around the border leaving dashed paths behind them. The script was a handwriting that was too bubbly and round to be her father’s straight print. It was a recipe for an ‘All-Occasion Mixed Berry Sauce’, good for putting on scones, cakes, and anything baked apparently.

The paper had obviously been through a lot. The corners were starting to disintegrate and a few well-worn wrinkles made her fear it would fall apart in her hands. And the writing in one corner had been done in pencil, not pen. The marks were smudged but Poppy could just make out ‘Peppy’s favorite’ through the blurs.

This was one of her mom’s recipes.

And that was what drove her to walk to the memorial that day.

She hadn’t expected to bump into anyone there, let alone someone she knew.

“Branch? What are you doing here?”

The grey troll immediately pretended that he HADN’T been pretending he hadn’t seen her. With a most put-upon sigh, he turned to face her. “Why, Princess! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Clearly from his tone, it was not a pleasant surprise.

Poppy agreed but any sort of familiarity in this unknown realm of unhappiness (was sadness the right word?) was a comfort. She resisted the urge to fiddle with the card in her hands. “Yeah. Same here. I mean, I didn’t expect to come here today, but I found something…”

Branch’s eyebrows rose in interest and he looked down at the card. Poppy waited for the biting remark, the disparaging comment, the mocking…

There was a very awkward minute of silence. At the end, it hit Poppy like a thunderclap that Branch was keeping his mouth shut and his ears open (for once).

Poppy cleared her throat. “It-it was my mother’s. From, you know, before…the great escape.”

The quiet, patient way he was looking at her was unnerving. Usually they’d be at each other’s throats by now, hurling insults and accusations at the top of their lungs. Instead he was waiting, his hands busy with the-

Poppy squinted. “Are those roses?”

Branch jumped and whipped the bouquet behind his back. “No they’re not!”

Poppy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, uh, yes,” he admitted after a second.

“Roses for…,” Poppy tried.

“Ahem. My…my grandmother,” he answered in a low voice.

“Ah.” It was clearly a very personal topic. Branch ordinarily came across as a very spirited, ahem, _character_ (infuriatingly stubborn, maddeningly unyielding and admirably impossible to break, her mind supplied) but Poppy felt on some instinctual level that this was the one time where the slightest shove might shatter him.

She however was a complete extravert and was never afraid to share, even with someone she butted heads with on a frequent basis. “I feel kind of guilty,” she confessed. “I never really missed her before. Having Dad was always enough. It never hit me that someone close to me was on the other side.”

She glanced down at the card again. It was like peeking through a window at a parallel universe. There was Dad walking through the door, bright and bold after a day of work. There was Mom in the kitchen, welcoming him back with a delicious meal and a warm smile. There was her, eagerly rushing her dad and pulling him across the room to Mom.

“Well,” she amended. “Someone who was supposed to be one of the most important people in my life.”

“Hmm.”

Poppy jumped. “Well! There’s no sense in dwelling on it, right? I’ll meet her eventually after all!”

Her peppy declaration was met with dead silence. And dead was all too accurate as Branch stared at her silently, as though he was waiting. What he was waiting for, she didn’t have a clue.

“I, uh, I think I had better be going. Lots of singing to do, lots of happiness to spread. It was nice…I’ll just…I’ll leave you to it…” She couldn’t discern Branch’s expression – he never looked anything but angry when she saw him – but thought maybe it was disappointment.

She had already turned around when he called her back. “Princess.”

She turned back around. Branch had stopped hiding his bouquet and was holding one of the roses out to her. “Here.”

He didn’t say anything else as she took the flower and thanked him. Then again, Poppy figured, Branch didn’t really have a way with words, and he hadn’t needed to. The fact that it was a heartfelt gesture of sympathy, coming from him of all trolls, the guy who never shared so much as a seed, spoke volumes. It almost made her feel guilty because the sincerity behind it far outshined her own sorrow.

She ended up keeping the rose in a vase on the kitchen table with the recipe carefully leaned against it. When King Peppy asked about it, she merely answered that she thought it looked nice and indeed, it brought a smile to her father’s face every time he saw it. It was a good reminder for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh. Meh. I don't know if this actually fits in my cannon. I just wrote something because it's relaxing. Nice break from that paper on energy benefits of living in apartments rather than single-family homes (if they exist).  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. The Third Hug Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Branch left the Bunker. I'll give you a hint: it wasn't hug time.

Truth be told, it wasn’t hug time that changed his mind. Although yes, he hated it with a passion and would almost rather get eaten by a Bergen.

Almost.

Between the two choices, his best option was to curl up on the ground in the fetal position and make it impossible for anyone to get their arms around his torso.

It also wasn’t when someone discovered all the invitations he had racked up over the years. Oh Ancestors. When the eyes of the entire troll village landed on him, he had just wanted to die.

But not by Bergen. It had felt like his heart might do him a favor and give out. No Bergen necessary.

Unfortunately, it was still beating when King Peppy walked up and sat next to him. He had his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knee and was debating if it was possible to make a bunker in a bunker and serve them all sweat for tea. When the King sat next to him, he barely batted an eye.

“Hello, Branch.”

“…Hello, Majesty,” Branch grudgingly replied after a moment.

The King cleared his throat. “Branch, do you remember how you saved my daughter once?”

Branch looked at him out of the corner of his eye, staying silent. It was disrespectful, but he didn’t owe the King anything.

After all, _he_ was the one who had led them to safety. Not him.

“I didn’t do it for your daughter,” he answered after a moment.

“You also didn’t come back for yourself,” the King said. “Or else you wouldn’t have come back at all.”

Branch turned his attention back to the little snots who were snipping up his medicinal bark for confetti.

“You’re a good person, Branch. Remember that.”

Then the King left.

Branch left shortly thereafter. Nobody noticed him grab his pack, his frying pan, some flint and tinder, and a bag of seeds at first. When the lift fell open, silence ran through the bunker and he glared back when the eyes of the entire troll village landed, once again, on him.

“Shut up and stay safe,” he ordered them all. “And for the love of LIFE, _don’t sing!”_

When he found Poppy, she of course had a mocking comment for him.

“Of course. I figured after the third hug time, getting eaten by a Bergen wouldn’t seem so bad.”

Branch gave her a blank stare for a moment. “And I figured that you wouldn’t last a day out here by yourself.” He crossed his arms and smirked. “Guess we were both right.”

Let her think he came because he hated hug time. And let the King think he left because he was noble or whatever ridiculous image the King had of him. Until he was ready to admit to himself that he came to save her, because dammit all her life mattered to him and he was more scared of what would happen if she got eaten than of getting eaten himself…

They weren’t getting a peep out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy student is busy. I literally threw this together in half an hour. Enjoy!  
> The amount of energy your house uses plus another chapter to come tomorrow.  
> :)


	10. Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never sings and he never dances. He denies wanting to hear any music. Ever. But then he listens with such rapt attention, like he can't get enough.

He never sings and he never dances. He denies wanting to hear any music. Ever.

But then he listens with such rapt attention, like her songs are the most beautiful in the world. Poppy’s caught him staring at her, like he’s forgotten the world exists. His expression morphs from irritated and angry to – something Poppy doesn’t have words for. He looks like he’s found the most entrancing elixir and although he doesn’t so much as twitch, she can tell he’s drinking it up like a troll dying of thirst.

He likes the older songs, the ones that have lyrics that Poppy didn’t understand at first. Sure, she’s understood the words for years, can sing them perfectly, but the deeper meaning takes her a while to grasp.

She can tell they speak to him, make him see things she can’t. She thinks she can see something struggling in him, desperately trying to answer. She’s convinced it’s his happiness.

Whatever it is, she’s pleased as pie every time she catches him with that expression. The idea that she can make even Branch feel something with her music makes her chest tingle and her smile widen. The idea that someone is out there, listening to her like that, makes it a little harder to get the words out. She’s the princess, and she teaches classes and organizes parties and people do listen to her, of course they do.

But not like this.

So sometimes, when she’s singing…she’s singing for Branch.

And when Branch freezes and his head swivels around, seeking her pink form in the clearing underneath the rainbow, she feels elated – right up until the moment he his gaze falls on her and, out of the corner of her eye, she sees his grumpy expression get even angrier and he turns on his toe and starts stalking away.

Poppy is flabbergasted and the music cuts abruptly. She runs to catch up, and while he isn’t running, he’s certainly booking it to wherever it is that he’s going. When she finally reaches him and opens her mouth to ask what happened, he cuts her off before she can speak.

“Leave me alone!” he commands, still barreling through the brush like a bullet train.

“Branch, what happened? I thought you’d like that song!”

Branch gives an ugly laugh, and Poppy pulls up, startled because she’s never heard anything like it before. She’s never seen Branch like this. Paranoid, panicking, scared, angry, argumentative, stubborn, smug, incensed, sure. But there’s something else here, something she’s never encountered and the only reason she isn’t scared is because, well, it’s Branch.

She scrambles to catch up, realizing she was about to lose sight of him.

“Branch!”

“ _Like?_ You thought I’d _like_ it? I HATE music, Poppy! HATE. IT,” he emphasizes.

“That’s a lie,” Poppy shoots back, flinching when she gets a fern to the face. “You do NOT hate music.”

“Leave me alone!”

“I’ve seen you,” she continues, refusing to let this go. “I’ve seen you, listening. You’re not into the pop songs and you don’t like party mixes. Anything with a bounce to it is hit or miss, but you like the oldies. You like the classics, like _September?_ ” She poses it like a question, makes him remember. “And _Dreamweavers?_ And-“

“You are wrong,” Branch says. His lips are tight and white. “You are _dead_ wrong.” He starts walking even faster.

“I am not,” Poppy insists. “You _liked_ them. I _saw you_.”

“I did NOT!”

“You DID!”

“Did NOT!”

“You DID!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!”

Branch abruptly stops in front of a big, triangular shaped rock and thrusts his cargo, a bunch of sticks, into her arms. “Here, hold this.”

Poppy, being the nice and admittedly somewhat naïve troll she is, accepts them unquestioningly and merely watches as Branch opens the apparent door, steps through, and then clicks about seven locks shut, if her ears don’t deceive her.

With a trumpet of outrage, she throws all the sticks on the ground.

“BRANCH!”

“Go away and leave me alone!” The rock muffles his voice. Poppy pounds at it with her fists, but it is, yes, a very solid rock. She tries to lift it, but it weighs a ton and she is nowhere near as strong as Branch.

“BRANCH!” she shrieks. “DON’T YOU DARE LIE TO ME! YOU LIKED THOSE SONGS!”

“Shut up!”

“IF THIS IS YOUR CRAZY WAY OF BEING ASHAMED OF YOUR VOICE, THEN DON’T BE!” she screams through the door. “IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW BAD IT IS, YOU’LL ONLY GET BETTER IF YOU SING!”

“My voice is angelic,” Branch snarls back in a voice that can only be described as demonic. “But I don’t sing, I HATE singing, and I HATE you! GO AWAY, you piece of BACON!”

“COME OUT HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE, BLUEBERRY!” she screams, returning the insult.

“POMEGRANATE!”

“MOLDY PIECE OF CHEESE!”

“RASPBERRY CUCAKE WITH SPRINKLES!”

“SAD POTATO!”

“BERGEN BAIT!”

Poppy screams and kicks his door. “AAAARRGGGHHHH!”

Then she hops on one foot for a bit and frantically tries not to cry at the pain. When she gets her breathe back-

“YOU ARE THE MOST STUBBORN, NASTY, MEAN TROLL IN THE ENTIRE VILLAGE!”

“And you’re the dumbest if that’s news to you,” comes the reply. Poppy can see the sneer entirely too clearly. “Move along, meal, and LEAVE ME ALONE!”

She hates it when he wins but there’s nothing else to say to that except more insults, which is pointless. Her mood is foul for the rest of the day. Only Creek will approach her, and he smiles understandingly, grabs her wrist, and takes her to his meditation place. She still isn’t very good at it (she has a habit of stewing, it would seem) but she always enjoys the quiet moments with her friend-potential-add-a-boy-in-front. He’s calming on the nerves, smoothing her electric, jagged edges, and the day turns out to be good after all.

(They get ice cream at the end of it and watch the sunset. It’s romantic, and her heart flutters a little in joy.)

But when she lays down to sleep that night, she isn’t thinking about the ice cream as much as the argument. She just doesn’t understand why Branch flipped out when she started singing Total Eclipse of the Heart. It seemed to be right down his alley, but you can be sure she’ll never serenade him with it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreamworks got new animation software for facial expressions for HTTYD2. Not sure if they used here, but they did an awesome job with expressions regardless.  
> Guys. Guys, I DIED. But seriously, sorry for the break.  
> For all those who are interested, yes, living in an urban area requires less carbon emissions regarding the operation of your residence than living in a suburban area in America. (A study in Finland found that emissions and energy use increase as income does, regardless of residency type.) Fun stuff.  
> Thanks for reading, kudoing, bookmarking, and, above all else, commenting! I may not respond, but I do read and they lift my spirits :)


	11. Forest of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch is in a bad state of mind during the escape from Bergentown.

Branch trembles as they wait for everyone. Trolls pour out of the tunnel in a flurry of color, racing away from certain death to less certain death. It’s not really an improvement in his opinion; it just buys them a couple more hours, a couple more days. He glances around, shivering, at the unfamiliar plants. The unfamiliar animals.

There’s one, about ten times his size, staring at him. It’s fuzzy and has a mouth big enough to swallow three trolls whole. He tries not to move.

His ears twitch and he flinches, gasps, and whips around, just in time to see something flambé a creature and suck up the ashes like a vacuum – whether it’s a plant or an animal, he can’t tell. He squeaks and his breath grows short when it turns and looks at them.

He screams when two enormous eyes high above him blink.

“Branch?”

Branch glances up. “There’s something out there!” he cries wildly, not sure which strange creature he should point at and simply pointing at a bunch of unassuming flowers. “They want to eat us!”

The one kind and somewhat smart adult looks at where he’s pointing. Acai doesn’t see anything, but, well, the undergrowth is dense so that doesn’t mean anything. And as much as he wants to reassure the child that there isn’t anything there, he knows that would be a mistake.

“Here,” he says, offering a hand. “There’s safety in numbers. Nothing will happen to us if we all stick together.”

The child grabs his hand like it’s a lifeline and stands so close he almost steps on the acolyte’s toes.

Acai clears his throat. “Berry?”

His wife turns and raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

Acai pointedly holds out his other hand, because now that he’s ripped his eyes away from the tunnel, his confidence is dwindling. The child is right. There are lots of things out there. Hopefully they don’t want to eat them, but he isn’t willing to bet on it.

Berry shifts their son to her other hip and joins the chain. Branch presses up against Acai’s leg. The acolyte can feel him trembling with fear.

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassures the child, squeezing the small hand a little. Branch doesn’t look any less fearful than before, still all wide eyes and trembling hair. “You’ll see,” Acai promises, and hopes it’s before the child’s heart gives out from the overwhelming fear. He also really hopes it’s true.

“You don’t know that,” Branch answers, echoing his thoughts exactly.

“No,” Acai answers honestly, “but I hope it will be.”

And therein lies the problem, he thinks, as the child trembles, stares, and flinches. “We’ll all be here,” he promises.

Branch gives him a look that screams, ‘okay, but how long?’

Acai doesn’t answer. It’s evident that Branch is convinced that they’re all going to end up in some creature’s stomach, which Acai will admit is a possibility, but that’s a bit premature. It’s also evident that nothing he can say will change the kid’s mind. He will only believe it when he sees it.

In fact, any reassurance he gives, any attempt to make Branch’s heart stop beating so fast Acai is worried he’ll pass out, will be savagely chopped up and thrown back in his face. The kid knows it’s all a pack of lies and empty promises, and he trusts Acai to tell the truth. Breaking that trust?

As much as he wants to at least try to calm the kid down, he keeps his mouth shut and lets his presence do the reassuring for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's short, but I felt this was an important connector and I didn't have anything else to say.  
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Cootie Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch scares kids with cootie stories. Yet another thing for Poppy to solve, she supposes.

Branch’s eye ticked when something dinged and a little pair of arms wrapped around his knee. The adults at this point knew to leave him alone. But the kids…he flinched when the hug tightened. Something had to be done about this.

Scotch froze when the troll he was hugging spoke. “Doomed.”

“W-what?” he stammered, looking up.

A pair of stormy grey eyes glared down at him. “You are doomed!”

When that didn’t make the kid stop hugging his leg, Branch pointed theatrically at him and, in his best booming voice, said, “You dare hug me? Did your parents never warn you of the dangers of hugging those who are Grey?”

“Um…no?” peeped the kid in the tiniest voice Branch had ever heard.

“We Grey trolls are the _grumpiest_ , the _unhappiest_ , the _most_ MISERABLE trolls in all the land! To hug us is to join us!”

“No!” the kid cried.

“Yes!” the horrible Grey troll insisted. “Your skin will turn dull, and your hair will turn dark grey, and the world will seem like nothing but a big mouth waiting to swallow you whole!”

“Meep!” The kid clutched at his hair.

“And ANY who dare hug you will meet the same fate!” Branch pronounced, thrusting his finger in the air. “For Grey Grumpitis is the most CONTAGIOUS disease known to troll-kind!”

The kid ran away screaming. Branch was willing to bet he’d figure it out soon enough, but that ought to keep the little pests’ hands off him for at least a month. Feeling pleased, Branch continued to saunter across the village, an extra bounce in his step.

___________________________________________________________________________

“- _WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_ ”

Poppy wildly waved her arms at the choir to cut and whirled around.

“PRINCESS POPPY! PRINCESS POPPY!”

The princess jumped when two little arms wrapped around her knees and looked down into a pair of big, beseeching brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The child’s lip trembled. “There’s a cootie monster in the village! You have to save us!”

Poppy blinked. “Uh…a cootie monster?”

The child pointed in the direction he had come running and shrieking from. Poppy didn’t see anything unusual – except Branch, walking blatantly through the middle of town looking happy-as-you-please. He left all the kids scurrying and screaming in his wake. One kid was sitting on the ground, head buried in his knees and rocking back and forth in a panic.

“Branch,” Poppy ground out, about to stride towards him.

“NO! You mustn’t touch him!” the child begged her. “He’ll turn you grey and unhappy just like HIM!”

Poppy raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” She knelt on one knee so that she was face-to-face with the kid. “Do you want to know a secret?” she half-whispered.

The kid leaned closer. “Can it defeat the cootie monster? Is it his secret weak point?”

“Yes,” Poppy promised. “Now, you know how he has grey, cloudy, stormy cooties?” The kid nodded, listening intently. “Now, not many people know this…but you have cooties, too!”

“I do not!” the kid shouted.

“Oh yes you do,” Poppy insisted. “Happy, sunny, colorful cooties! These cooties are good cooties, and they’re ALSO highly contagious.”

The kid bit his lip. “So…”

Poppy smirked. “Grey cooties can be cured,” she claimed. “By lots and lots of exposure to good cooties.”

“I…I’ve gotta go! Thanks, Princess Poppy!”

Poppy grinned and put her hands on her hips as she watched the dust trail he left behind. This should prove to be highly amusing.

She couldn’t hide her grin when she turned back to face the choir. “Alright, people, from the top! A one, a two, a one-two-three and-!”

_____________________________________________________________________________

“- _WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_ ”

Poppy wildly waved her arms at the choir to cut and whirled around. What she saw made her – and the choir – burst out laughing.

Branch stumbled by, absolutely COVERED in children. Three were attached to each leg, a couple were clinging to his vest, more were hanging off his shoulders, and more still were rushing forward to leap at the grey cootie monster and wrap their highly contagious arms, covered in good cooties, around him.

“Get off! Get OFF!” Branch cried shrilly, flailing his arms. The kids stubbornly clung on and shook like ragdolls.

“Someone get his hair!”

“I’ve got his left foot! Scotch! Grab his right one!”

“Down with the Cootie Monster!”

Branch tripped and crashed on the ground.

“HUGTIME!”

The grey troll screamed into the earth as at least twelve little barbarians clambered on top of him and wrapped tiny arms and legs around his limbs. This was all Poppy’s fault.

“Hey, why isn’t he cured?” one little voice piped up.

Branch lifted his head only to be met with the sight of two pink feet. He sent Poppy the most evil glare he could and hoped the dirt all over his face didn’t spoil it too much.

Poppy smirked down at him. “Well, kids, I’m afraid this one is fairly far gone. He’s going to need multiple doses of treatment for quite a while before he’s better. Do you think you can handle that?”

A chorus of “Yes, Princess Poppy!” answered her. With a groan, Branch planted his face back in the dirt.

________________________________________________

Later, when Branch was washing off the humiliation – excuse me, dirt – he scowled. The Princess was getting smarter. She was getting cunning.

_And I like that_ , a little voice whispered. _She’s getting interesting._

“I respect that,” Branch corrected out loud, glaring at his reflection. Grey Grumpitis indeed. “But she’s infuriating! The moment she starts growing a brain, why does she have to use it to unhinge all my plans and make my life harder than it already is!” he demanded of his mirror.

He pointed his comb at it, the wide gaps between the teeth making them look sharp and pointy. “I will outsmart her,” he vowed. “She will fall before me!”

________________________________________________

“She will fall before me,” King Branch mumbled unenthusiastically. He glared at the Princess. “Stop _laughing_ , Princess!”

That just made Princess Poppy’s giggle fit worse.

“Adults are not good at playing games,” one little troll confided to another. The first had glitter all over his clothes and glitterglue on his cheeks like warpaint.

The second sneezed. “ACHOO! I think it’s just Mr. Branch,” she answered, holding a finger under her nose. “Can someone save me already? The dust all over my costume is making me sneeze.”

“I shall cure you!” the first troll cried grandly, wrapping his arms around her and swinging his friend in circles so all the dust flew off.

“King Branch!” another little dust-covered troll cried. “They’ve captured Carrie! What do we do?!”

‘King Branch’ stood up and flared his cape dramatically. “We-“

“ATTACK!”

“King Branch, Sunny has been captured! Peri has been captured! I’VE been captured! Help!”

Good riddance, Branch thought. I can finally get out of here. He threw his cape across his front and started walking backwards. “This isn’t the last you’ve heard of me!” he threatened, eyeing the trees. “I will infect you all! You shall ALL be-OOF!”

Branch flinched when two pink arms wrapped around him from behind and Poppy screamed in his ear. “NOW!”

Branch struggled against them. “Let me go, let me go!”

Poppy squeezed him a little more. “Just relax,” she whispered under the kids’ shouting.

Branch tried to twist his head so he could glare at her. “I don’t relax!”

“Enjoy the moment,” she commanded. “This is your cure after all!”

“ARGH!”

She was definitely getting smarter, and Branch was definitely not going to show his face for at least a month after this spectacle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun :)  
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Branch the Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy had always been a teeny, weeny, just a bit concerned that if Branch ever sang, or whistled, or even hummed, he might, well…explode.

Poppy had always been a teeny, weeny, just a bit concerned that if Branch ever sang, or whistled, or even hummed, he might, well…explode.

In retrospect, it was _really_ embarrassing that that had actually been a genuine concern. If Branch ever found out, Poppy would walk back to Troll Village, hunker down in his old bunker, and hibernate for ten years. Assuming she didn’t get eaten on the way, which would be an acceptable alternative.

But back when she had been little and impressionable and just so AMAZINGLY naïve, she had believed the rumor whole heartedly. She had spent nights wide-eyed in bed, envisioning the tragedy, and then dreaming of it. The grey troll would look hesitantly at the singing, happy crowd. He’d yearn for some of that happiness for himself. He’d step forward, and the dance circle would open…he’d open his mouth, and the most amazing, heart-tugging music would come out. He’d be the star of the show, the center of the circle, the lead singer!

And then poof! That final, sweet note would prove too much and he’d explode in a flurry of pure white glitter, gone forever. The cost of a moment of happiness.

It haunted Poppy every night for a week before she gathered the courage to walk up to Branch and ask him.

“Hey Branch?”

“Go away.” Even at thirteen years of age Branch had been amazingly rude. ESPECIALLY at thirteen.

“I have a question.”

“Ask someone else.”

“But only you can answer it!”

“If it’s in song form, I will tape your mouth shut, Princess or not.”

Nine-year-old Poppy rolled her eyes and released the big breath she had been holding. “Okaaaaay. Say, if you sing, will you explode?”

That made Branch stop short. He turned around and leaned down so they were eye-to-eye.

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Poppy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he confirmed.

“Positutely?” she asked again.

He squinted at her. “Yeeeeeah…I think…EGH! GET OFF!” He shoved her away, easily holding her at arm’s distance with a hand. “If I sing, I’ll explode. If I get hugged, I’ll, er, melt.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “And if you dance?” she wanted to know. Surely he wasn’t banned from the entire Hobby Trinity! What a horrible fate! “What happens then?”

He stared at her for a few seconds. “I’ll fade away into nothing, like I never existed.”

She figured THAT big fat ugly lie out in five seconds when she saw his parents come to pick him up.

“Branch? Hello, sweetie, how was your day?”

Poppy screamed when she saw the woman put her arms around him. She stared wide-eyed at Branch, who was trapped in the embrace.

His eyes darted between his mother and her. “Um…”

Poppy scowled and kicked him in the shin. The jerk! There was no melting, and no fading away, and… _probably_ no exploding.

She was still never sure, because sometimes, he really did look like he was about to explode. He’d do his little angry huff, and his nostrils would flare and it would look like a(n adorable) kettle letting off some steam. When she really pushed his buttons in later years, he’d turn this dark, roiling, thundercloud grey and start trembling and while she’d run away laughing, pleased that she’d managed to tick her tormentor off so thoroughly, she’d still sneak surreptitious looks back, just to check.

(If he really was going to explode, that was a sight she wanted to see.)

Then came the day that Branch truly, actually sang.

In a word, the day was dark. Poppy had never felt so negative, so guilty, so _hopeless_ , so abhorrent and wretched. She’d never IMAGINED it was possible to feel like this. But she did, tears were just two blinks away because they were all about to get eaten, it was _all_ her fault, _all_ her life, she’d been so _stupid_ to try to only see _cupcakes_ and _rainbows_ -

And Branch. Branch, the guy who had known all this would happen. Who had a thousand ideas on how to stop it, and could have saved them all. He told her (and the memory did bring tears to her eyes, happy tears) that he believed in her and her ridiculous positivity. He liked her cupcakes-and-rainbows attitude. He loved her optimistic colors, her true personality.

They connected, on an intimate, soulful level that held so much affection and sweet contentment it made her want to bask in it forever and ever. But as they sang, voices joining in a duet that flowed like honey, she saw the glow move through his arm and across his body and for a second, the moment was spoiled when she thought, ‘Oh Ancestors _no_.’

_I don’t want this to be it._

It took so much LONGER than it should have for everything to click, for her to realize that these were Branch’s true colors surfacing for the world to see and not his transformation into a ticking time bomb. She had just, grey had finally suited him. Grey had finally become a proper color in her eyes, the color of worry and quilts, _his_ color. Seeing it stripped away to reveal the blue character underneath the dull skin, dull like the Bergens’, and thick, stiff, stunted hair was alarming.

Until she saw the whole picture, and then she had to admit that the Branch before had only been a shadow. Poppy relaxed and drank the colors in eagerly, and the smile! She could work herself up into a lovesick monologue about that smile. The moment was tender and hopeful and she would always remember it with quite a bit of fondness…

...and a little bit of ire that her stupid brain had almost ruined it. The person who may possibly or definitely be the love of her life says ‘I love you’ and how does she react?

‘Oh no, are you EXPLODING?’

There’s really just, no way _not_ to be embarrassed about that. The only comfort she has is that not a soul knows but her and so she can get away with claiming that the blush is purely from the romance of the memory and has nothing to do with the humiliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to miss a few days; feeling a little under the weather, still have some work to do, and holidays are here! Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it :)  
> Thanks for reading, as always!


	14. The Cure for Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Poppy has a grey day but Branch always gives her a happy ending.

Sometimes, Poppy remembers the feeling of being grey. It sneaks up on her and makes her shiver from some unseen chill. It swirls over her skin like a sudden gust of winter air. It worms its way down her dress and makes her feel cold inside, from the tips of her hair all the way down to her fuzzy pink toes.

Everyone else remembers the grey feelings, too, she can tell. It’s always easy to pick out the trolls who are forcing the day to be a little brighter and whipping out the special cupcakes-and-rainbow glasses. They sing a little louder, dance a little harder, hug a little tighter and force themselves to forget that sadness. That hopelessness. The horrifying emptiness.

But it isn’t so easy for Poppy to banish it because her grey had been a little different. Her grey hadn’t been empty with despair – it had been overflowing with guilt. So it’s not as easy as just popping the lid and letting the happiness pour instead of trickle, not like it is for everyone else.

She thinks she hides it well. She’s the most positive troll of all. A sad day for her is just like a happy day for any other troll, right? She exudes happiness and positivity, and she can fake exuberance like the queen she is. It took her a few tries, but by this point not even Fuzzbert can recognize her off days.

She always fails to fool Branch though.

She doesn’t know what tips him off. Maybe she’s trying too hard, or maybe she’s not trying hard enough. Maybe she isn’t quick enough to hide it – she’s gotten better, but she’s sure she never manages to completely hide her expression when she’s staring at a pod and seeing a cooking pot in its place. When she’s meeting the inhabitants and for an instant they all look grey and dejected until she blinks and shakes her head.

Thankfully, he never says anything. He simply waits for her at the bottom of the Troll Tree, at the mushroom that marks the entrance (at least one entrance; she’s sure he’s working on making more) to his home. At the end of her long day, she’ll trudge straight into his open arms, feeling exhausted and drained but full of this terrible guilt that she isn’t good enough, that she only makes things worse, and sure she fixed them once, but how can she count on that luck a second time?

His arms are her safe place. They’re warm and soft, fuzzy like fleece. For a troll who just spent two decades grey and grumpy as a raincloud, Branch sure does know how to give a good hug. The grey guilt abates from his presence like ice under sunshine. She can’t help the feeling of happiness that bubbles up inside her when he draws her in or the smile that appears like magic when he presses a kiss against her forehead. And she doesn’t want to. It’s the best feeling in the world.

He’ll sweep her away to his unbearably plush couch and make a hot cup of milk tea magically appear in her hands. Then he’ll settle down next to her with a mug of his own.

On some of those gray days Poppy will open up and let the words pour out. But it’s rare and she thinks she maybe understands why Branch never sang so much as a syllable in those twenty years. The emptiness drains the lyrics from her head and turns all the melodies she knows flat. And where the guilt, the overwhelming self-shame, is concerned there’s nothing to say. So most days, she leans against him, her head on his comfortable shoulder, her hair brushing against his. They’ll play footsies as they try to get comfortable and they always end up pressed against each other. He puts an arm around her and she snuggles into a personal nest made of plush couch and Branch.

And as she cuddles, captured in her little cave of affection, the guilt finally disappears. He’s her safe place, her cure, and she loves him for it. She often presses a kiss to his shoulder, or his chin, or wherever is most accessible.

“I love you,” she murmurs against his arm. “You always know how to make me feel better. I don’t know how you do it.”

Branch smirks smugly, that same smirk that he wore when they were kids and when they were teenagers and when they were young adults yet somehow more endearing, and squeezes her a little tighter – hug time is all the time with him. “Maybe it only works because you love me,” he suggests, tone devious and confident.

“Maybe,” Poppy agrees, smiling. “Maybe it only works because YOU love ME,” she suggests and the smirk is replaced with a genuine smile. It’s wide and accentuates the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes. She traces them with her eyes, smiling softly as she thinks about how his worry lines have turned to laughter lines. How she helped him with that.

The same way he helps her.

She knows the love is only part of it though.

The other part is terrible and they don’t speak of it often. She hopes he doesn’t remember it too often, but on some level she realizes that’s a naïve thought. He remembers the grey feeling of guilt much more often than she does, and much more deeply. It was his cruel roommate, his ever-present shadow for twenty years. How he’s learned to live with it, to let go of it so easily she doesn’t know. To be fair it took him twenty years and a crisis to learn. She’ll happily accept the hard, guilt-filled days and happy, cuddle-filled nights if that’s the price.

But that’s what everyone else is missing. They all understand what is sadness, and what is hopelessness. But there are only two trolls who understand what is guilt, and that’s Poppy and Branch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack! With good ideas, too ^^  
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing!


	15. Razzle-Dazzle Teapots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children should be seen and not heard. Branch disagrees with this, and with a lot of other things, too.

“I’m a Razzle-Dazzle Berry!” Poppy pronounced triumphantly. “’You are always sweet and shining with happiness!’” she read. “’Your friends are lucky to know someone as positive and bedazzling as you!’ Awww,” she cooed.

“How nice!” Miss Guffin said, smiling. “I’m a Razzle-Dazzle Berry personality myself. Now, Fuzzbert, what did your personality test reveal?”

Branch scanned his own test results critically as their teacher vainly tried to get the little fuzz troll to speak clearly. ‘Rock’ it read. ‘Unpleasant and boring to be around, you are incapable of feeling or spreading happiness. You will need to work hard to join society as a happy, fulfilled citizen.’

His paper crinkled a little as his grip tightened and he scowled. Personality test, his hair roots.

Now Branch had never really liked Miss Guffin. She was from his grandmother’s generation. She styled her hair with way too much gel (like Grandma did) and wore heart-shaped blush on her cheeks (Grandma always liked to apply a little blush too) and dressed in a cardigan (Grandma’s cardigan was burgundy). She was always sweet as sugar and quick to offer guidance (just like grandmothers are supposed to) but if he had to describe her in one word, he’d pick fake.

He wasn’t sure if that was an honest ‘vibe’ he’d been picking up on (he’s always been such rubbish at the foster family business). He admitted that it might be a personal thing because she was a walking reminder of his Grandma and maybe his judgment was tainted.

Buuuuut.

Now he was pretty sure it wasn’t a personal thing.

“Branch?” Branch’s eyes narrowed as the sugar-coated snap trap turned to him. “Why don’t you share your results with the class?”

Pasting a calm, congenial smile on his face but trying to keep his heart from thumping like a hummingbird’s, Branch stood up, cleared his throat, and pretended to read.

“I’m a Stratified Sandstone,” he said, still smiling. “I have a lot of layers that I don’t like to share with people because it’s none of their business and I don’t approve of forcing people to share personal results in an effort to shame them into the type of behavior you want to see. I’m very straightforward and will solidly stand up for what I believe in no matter what,” he declared. “And I do NOT believe in bogus tests designed to brainwash us into thinking that we should all be Razzle-Dazzle Berry personality types. We’ve all got our flaws, and we’ve all got good traits, too.”

And then he ripped the piece of paper up into tiny shreds before Miss Guffin’s eyes, smiled pleasantly one more time, and sat back down.

“B-b-brainwa-! _Shame_ -!” Outraged syllables poured from their bogus teacher’s mouth as the entire class stared at him, flabbergasted. Branch did his best to impersonate an uncaring rock incapable of feeling worry or fear as he waited for the terrible punishment Miss Guffin was sure to slam him with.

Because students did not question teachers. She was the TEACHER, her words were PEARLS and her rules were COMMANDMENTS.

Where had the courage to call her out come from, Branch wondered at himself as Miss Guffin adjusted her glasses. He was just an insignificant teenager no one bothered to listen to. What had made him stand up and speak? And _why didn’t he regret it_ even as Miss Guffin puffed up like a truly terrifying thundercloud?

“The words of someone who wants to deny the flaws in himself and bring everyone else down to his level. You clearly need some personal time to face your results,” she said, sweet sugar dripping from her voice like acid. “You are confined to the corner for the remainder of class, Branch. I expect a paper on your personality type and how you plan to fix it by the end of the class. I will be having some very strong words with your parents very soon. Now class,” she continued, turning back to the others. “Ignoring this bit of unpleasantness, let’s continue. Guy Diamond?”

Branch had to turn around quickly and he thought he saw the Princess’s face scrunch up in disgust when she saw his smile. But he couldn’t help it; he had finally found his role as a fulfilled citizen in their society and knowing it brought him…a little ray of happiness.

Just a small one.

When Miss Guffin read his letter at the end of class, she was completely at a loss on how to handle her newly disobedient student.

_Dear Miss Guffin,_

_Personally I think your ‘Class for Special Trolls’ is a load of blarney. You may say it helps trolls discover themselves and take their place in society but as far as I’ve seen, it’s really a behavioral correction training program for trolls who don’t conform to the standard. Your true objectives are stifling and the class activities you design are insulting. You treat us like busted teapots that you can glue together and paint over to hide all the flaws and it’s appalling that you won’t release us until you’re sure we can ‘fix’ ourselves the same way._

_But, you did help me find myself today. I have discovered that I am a confident troll and that my place in society is to tell everyone the truths they don’t want to hear, including you. So I guess your class DID fulfill its objectives after all, in the most twisted way._

_As far as I’m concerned, I don’t owe you any thanks._

_Branch_

Poppy gave their teacher a worried look as she stared blankly at the paper Branch had handed her, her expression twisting into something terrible. She ran to catch up to the grey troll.

“Branch! Branch, for the LOVE of SONG, what did you _write?_ ”

“Just a few words I thought she needed to hear,” Branch answered smugly as the rest of the class caught up.

“Ooooh, how many curse words did you use?” Quince asked with glee, shouldering passed Poppy.

Branch sent him a disgusted look. “None. Unlike you, I actually had something worth saying.”

“Bra-anch, I think you had better a-po-logize,” Guy Diamond let slip before he covered his mouth with both hands. Poppy, being the nice troll that she was, patted his shoulder sympathetically and sent Quince an impressive look when he opened his mouth to jeer.

It clicked shut again.

“She did NOT look happy,” Poppy warned, turning back to Branch.

Branch shrugged. “I have decided that I don’t particularly care. As far as I’m concerned, she can take her Razzle-Dazzle Berry personality and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I HATE that woman!”

Everyone, even Quince gasped and flinched away from him.

“Uhhhhh…I think I he-ar my parents calling!” Guy Diamond claimed, scrambling off.

“I, er, should really-you know what, I think I hear mine, too!” Quince declared, dashing away.

Fuzzbert said something completely unrecognizable before he ran away too.

Soon enough, only Poppy was left, and she looked fidgety, grabbing her arm and avoiding his gaze. Branch raised an eyebrow. “What? Why haven’t you run off yet?”

“H-hate her?” Poppy asked, barely able to get the word out. “Really?”

Branch pretended to think for a moment before he nodded definitively. “Yep. That just about sums it up.”

Poppy cleared her throat. “Because she’s a Razzle-Dazzle Berry?”

“Because she’s a manipulative fraud who intentionally makes people feel bad about themselves,” Branch answered bluntly, glaring at the pod their teacher still hadn’t left. “Razzle-Dazzle Berry my hair roots!” he shouted, waving a fist at the pod. “More like Patch of Pretty Poisonous Mushrooms.”

He didn’t know WHAT he’d said to make the Princess so happy, but whatever it was did the trick because before he knew it her arms were around him and she was singing in his ear.

“OFF!” he screeched. “OFF OFF OFF!”

Poppy drew away, smile firmly in place.

“What was that for?!” Branch yelled, desperately fixing his un-mussed vest. His skin crawled as phantom arms remained wrapped around him and he wriggled, trying to erase the memory.

“Just felt like it!” she answered happily.

Branch pointed a finger at her. “DON’T get any ideas! I still hate you too! You sing way too much, you throw ridiculously loud parties way too often, and you’re invasive and nosy! Where are you going! I’M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET!”

“See you later, Branch!” the Princess sang over her shoulder, waving. “Also, I’m throwing a party tomorrow! You’re invited!” he heard faintly.

“NOT ON YOUR LIFE!” he shouted back. “YOU’RE RIDICULOUS!” He was pretty sure she couldn’t hear him anymore. “Ridiculously happy,” he grumbled to himself as he headed in the direction of his foster family’s pod. “Razzle-Dazzle Berry, my hair roots!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Also, the Broppy kid request is noted :)


	16. Ugly Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch isn't old enough to understand that trying to wiggle your way out of a job is a bad idea, or basic physics.

Poppy had a horrible habit of losing her cowbell.

Perhaps that’s the wrong wording.

Poppy had a horrible habit of sending her cowbell flying when whatever song she was singing hit its zenith and she was going to get down and start really dancing. Everybody agreed that the enthusiastic way the little seven-year-old threw down was endearing, and they also agreed that returning the cowbell to its owner afterward was a pain in the tush.

Thus, once upon a time, there was a-

“ROYAL COWBELL FETCHER!” the pink princess called imperiously from her perch at the height of the pyramid of trolls. “Fetch my cowbell!”

An eleven-year-old Branch glared mutinously and stomped away, muttering furiously under his breath.

“She should find her own cowbell!” Branch whined at Acai one day after an unfortunate encounter with a prickleberry bush. It had apparently decided that it was the new guard dog for the cowbell, and prying the instrument out of it had been painful. “She’s the one who keeps throwing it away!”

“Mmm-hmm,” the adult hummed, tongue sticking out as he worked to get a particularly stubborn thorn out of the little troll’s leg.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Acai said, placing the thorn with its fellows in the bowl.

“No you’re not!”

“Well the alternative is being full of prickleberry thorns,” Acai pointed out reasonably. “You can’t sit like that.”

Branch stood up, mouth set in a stubborn frown. “I meant about signing me up as the Royal Cowbell Fetcher! A dog fetching and carrying for the Princess!”

“I had my reasons,” the adult answered cryptically. “Now lay back down on your stomach. There are a few more thorns to get out.”

Slowly, Branch obliged, wincing. “What type of reasons?” he muttered.

“Adult reasons,” Acai answered. “Safety reasons. Can you live with that?”

“…I suppose,” came the grudging reply.

“Thank you.”

Branch still didn’t want to be the Royal Cowbell Fetcher though. The title was embarrassing, and the job was downright humiliating and _hard_. For a seven-year-old, Princess Poppy had quite the arm and Branch was honestly amazed that nobody had been knocked out by a flying cowbell yet. That cowbell ended up being covered in mud and muck, an inedible treat for various bugs, home to a nest of smidge ants (which bit something fierce, by the way), a mistaken egg in a particularly dimwitted bird’s nest, and the list went on. Branch felt that the cowbell’s personal memoir would be a top read, if the cowbell had had hands to write with, of course. And he would be the butt of every joke in it.

He hated his job.

And finding the cowbell _stick? That_ was nigh on impossible. The thing was small and hard to spot, and it fit into every crack and crevice he didn’t want to stick his hand in.

It all came to a head one fine, sunny day.

Branch huffed and puffed as he handed the princess her trademark instrument. She didn’t so much as blink as she accepted it from him, continuing her conversation with her cousin DJ Suki. She didn’t bother saying thank-you, because you didn’t thank people who returned something that was yours in the first place. Branch didn’t bother saying you’re welcome, mostly because he was too out of breath to say anything. And that was probably a good thing, because if he had been able to speak he sure wouldn’t have said anything close to ‘you’re welcome.’

DJ Suki said…something…(his blood was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear) and Princess Poppy squealed, threw up her arms…

And as if in slow motion, the cowbell and stick that he had just spent three hours scouring the lakebottom for went flying out of sight. Not even ten seconds after he had just handed it to her. His ‘what-the-insert-whatever-word-that-adults-won’t-say-around-him’ face went completely unnoticed.

“I…JUST…gave that to you!” Branch gasped, hands on his knees.

The girls turned to him looking confused. “What?”

DJ Suki jumped and pulled Princess Poppy back some. “Ew!” she whispered. “He’s covered in algae! Don’t get to close!”

Branch staggered forward a little. “The…the cowbell! Your cowbell! I JUST handed it to you!”

It took three seconds (yes, Branch counted) for Princess Poppy’s expression to clear. “Oh. Oh! You did! I barely even noticed. Well, time to fetch it again!” she ended cheerfully.

“Do…” He gulped in a breath. “You HAVE…to throw it…ALL…the time…”

“I can’t help it!” Princess Poppy defended herself, stomping her foot.

Branch scoffed.

“It looks so much more epic when she throws it!” DJ Suki stepped in. “More joyful! More…PARTYFUL!”

“That is a made up word,” Branch stated flatly.

“Fetch!” the princess demanded, sending him away.

Branch simply turned around and dragged himself in the direction it had fallen. He spent the next couple of hours trying to extract the cowbell from the bee’s nest with a very long, very flimsy stick. In the end, he had to slather himself with honey, crawl into the hive, and carry it out on his back because neither bees nor trolls disguised as bees walked on two legs.

He didn’t bother giving it back until the next morning.

“Oh, Bluebell, I missed you so much!” the young princess declared in delight when it was presented to her.

“AND,” Branch added, making sure to add some pep to his voice, “I even added a little something to it! Look!” He tugged at the string with a hairband on the end. “You can wrap this in your hair, and every time you throw your bell, it’ll come right back!” The pep came off as a little condescending, but luckily the princess was too young and dumb to notice.

“Hmm…” The princess looked at it suspiciously.

“You’ll have your bell with you ALL the time!” Branch promised enthusiastically. “You’ll never be without it again!”

That did the trick and Branch almost cried with relief when the little girl tied her hair up in a ponytail and tucked the bell and stick in it. No more mucking through swampy sand, or braving dangerous insects, or crawling through troll-eating bushes for him! The plan was foolproof!

“AOW!”

Branch froze midstep.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAAAAA! WAAAAAHHHHHHH-AWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

The trolls swarmed around their little princess, who was clutching her head, and King Peppy came running. The cowbell lay a few feet away, as far as the string would stretch, and it was immediately clear that it had been too heavy for the little girl. Needless to say, Branch got into a lot of trouble that day, and out of a job, which had been his end goal but…

In the end, he still felt pretty ashamed, especially when the Princess wouldn’t even hear his apology, and he proceeded to feel ashamed for the next two weeks until Princess Poppy imperiously proclaimed that he was forgiven and that he could go get her cowbell again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad break, Branch. I originally thought this one was going to be funny and then it ended up kind of sad. Oops.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and reviewing, and patiently waiting for the drabbles to drip in again!


	17. Introvert Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy, being the only introvert in an ocean of extroverts.

Branch breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared into the shadows of Bergentown. It was like diving into a cool pool of water on a hot summer day, or stepping out of a stuffy pod into crisp, dew-laden morning air. He turned around to survey the Troll Tree behind him, leaning casually against the bricks and feeling more at home in the shadows of their predators than he thought he would ever feel in his troll pod.

Or even in his own skin.

His hand automatically reached up to rub gently at his arm and he let his eyes un-focus and his thoughts drift.

Until his ear twitched at the sound of bouncy footsteps and cheerful humming. He backed up a few steps and hid in a deeper part of the shadows like the world’s most unsuccessful chameleon.

“Mr. Branch? Princess Poppy wants to see you.”

Branch’s eyes popped open and narrowed. “How did you find me?”

Crick looked honestly baffled. “Um…I saw you? You’re not that hard to spot, Mr. Branch.”

His hand reached for his arm again. “Aren’t you old enough to drop the Mister now, Crick?” he muttered as he stepped out into the light, revealing – well, nothing at all, he supposed. How COULDN’T you spot a bright electric blue troll?

“Well, you’re still playing hide-and-go-seek and you’re ten years older than me,” he pointed out.

“Actually it’s called lurking,” Branch corrected automatically, fully intending to save his dignity. He regretted the words the minute they left his mouth.

The facetious teenager fell into step beside him grinning. “And now you just became creepy.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Branch grabbed his arm and marched forward. “I’m not creepy,” he muttered.

“D’aww, and now you’re embarrassed!” Crick ribbed, jogging a few steps to keep up.

“I’m NOT embarrassed,” Branch denied instantly.

Crick eyed him thoughtfully. “Really? ‘Cause you do that thing where you grab your arm a lot and you look at your toes like you’re begging the ground to open up and swallow you. Like what you’re doing now.”

Branch’s hands flew to his sides. “I do NOT.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Kid, I could strangle you right now,” Branch muttered.

Crick pinned him with an assessing look. “So why are you embarrassed?”

Branch’s heart felt like it was being squeezed and his hand twitched, trying to reach his arm. He resisted with a monumental amount of willpower. “I am _not_ embarrassed.”

“Is it because you’re in love?”

“Now that’s a bit hasty-”

“Because Cooper found your love poetry and blabbed it to everyone?”

“It wasn’t love poetry!”

“Because you shriek like a girl when someone pokes your sides?”

“I DO NOT SHRIEK LIKE A GIRL!”

“Has anyone ever told you you have a denial problem?”

“No, because I don’t,” Branch said firmly.

Crick sent him a dry look. “Right. You have a denial problem.”

Branch turned on his toe. “Thank you for your diagnosis, Doctor. It’s been most enlightening and I’m going to go find Poppy.”

“Actually she’s in King Gristle’s castle,” Crick said cheerfully. “They’re working out some diplomatic thingy – planning out Color Day Festival. I’m the scribe!”

Branch, who had just set foot on the soft dirt at the base of the Troll Tree, froze. “Co-Color, ahem, Color Day Festival?” He had to clear his throat to get the words out.

“Yeah!” Crick continued with enthusiasm. “It’s going to be the most AMAZING festival we’ve ever seen! They’re coordinating everything, the songs, the dancing. They’re even planning a giant parade all through town!”

“Mmm.” That was the most enthusiastic sound Branch could manage while a massive blimp with the words ‘oh shoot’ waded through his mind.

Color Day Festival. The mere thought made Branch’s intestines tie themselves into knots and his heart stick in his throat. Color Day Festival was perhaps the gaudiest festival the trolls had. There was, of course, some deep, meaningful history behind it (the shades of the original clans, tracing family history, etc.) but at the end of the day, it always became a competition to see who could create the biggest, ugliest color catastrophe on the planet. His own words, of course. No others could do the spectacular hair bouquets more befitting birds of paradise quite the right justice.

“You’ll be in it this year, right, Mr. Branch?” Crick babbled. “You should! You should totally be on the biggest, tallest float so everyone can see you! What’s your bouquet going to look like? Ooh, it’s got to be the most brilliant of them all!”

Branch missed a step and brought a hand to his mouth at the thought, willing himself not to throw up. His insides squirmed.

“Wow, you really are embarrassed, aren’t you?”

The formerly grey troll glared daggers at the suddenly-calm teenager who looked as satisfied as the cat that had gotten into the cream. “No.” With a sigh, he leaned against the stone steps to catch his breath. “Is she even up there?”

“Yeah,” Crick answered. “She’s up there, planning the Color Day Festival with the king and Bridget. They’re planning a parade, too. And they probably will want you up on a float.” The deep purple troll looked at him with something close to worry. “Why are you embarrassed, Mr. Branch? I don’t understand. You’re a hero.”

“Kid.” Branch rolled his head back with a sigh. “Crick. I’m just a grey troll, okay?”

Crick raised his eyebrows, his hair bobbing as he thrust his hands into the air with joy. “But you’re blue now! EMBRACE it, yo! Kum-bay-aaaa-“

Branch grabbed his hands by the wrists and forced them back to his sides, pinning him with a glare even meaner than it had been when he had been grey. Crick gulped, taken aback, and Branch, seeing the scared look on his face, sighed.

“Ancestors, do that again and I will throw you back down the steps.” Branch let go abruptly and backed up. “See? I’m still mean. I’m still sarcastic. And grumpy, and cautious, a complete party pooper, a paranoid conspiracy theorist, and that crazy guy with thirty-three traps in my pod and enough provisions to last three months if we get attacked. I feel like punching every person who tries to hug me and duct taping everyone’s mouth shut when they burst into random song at five in the morning. And whoever tries to get me to dance before six am is going to get thrown out my escape window. I’m. Still. The same. Grey. Troll. Why do you and every other person in that darn Tree expect me to be anything else?” he asked, throwing up his hands.

“Because we know that isn’t who you really are,” Crick tried. “We know your feelings, your love, your true PASSION, the beautiful _poetry_ that lays in your heart-“

“Ex-zac-tly.” Branch answered, poking the teenager in the chest with each syllable, his words coming out in an all-too-familiar hiss. “I don’t _want_ you to know any of that. That’s none of your business. That’s private. This blue, these… _positive feelings_ ,” he nearly spat out. “I don’t _want_ you to see them.”

And his hand rubbed at his arm again, as though he could rub the blue away to reveal the grey underneath. Branch turned away, hiding his face from the boy.

“I don’t understand,” Crick said, honest befuddlement coloring his voice. “Why _not?_ Don't you want to be happy?"

“Of course, I…” Branch shook his head. “Guess I just got used to nobody knowing.” He sighed as he faced the doors to the castle. A miniature troll door had been installed in the front, its bright blue color mocking him. The color had been chosen in honor of him. “But now they all do. And they expect me to flaunt and _share_ every bit of happiness…shout it from the treetops, and flamboyant parade floats…and it’s exhausting. I don’t want to. It’s _private_ ,” he said again.

“You’re trying to hide, and we’re not letting you,” Crick summed up.

“Okay, I am _not_ ‘trying to hide’,“ Branch protested, gesturing agitatedly.

Crick rolled his eyes and made a karate chop motion with his hand. “Problem DENIED.”

“I’m not denying anything! I don’t have a problem!”

“Ignoring the ironic idiocy of that statement, what are you going to do about Color Day Festival then?”

Branch sighed and ran a hand through his hair, flinching when his fingers met soft, cotton-candy strands rather than the strong, thick locks he was used to. Strands that could now change color. “I’m going to give them a show, and then I’m going to get some supplies and spend a week recuperating by myself in my secret bunker.”

Crick raised an eyebrow. “You have a bunker here?”

Branch gave him a shifty look. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s-”

“-private,” Crick finished, rolling his eyes again. “I get it.”

“Excellent.” Branch clapped his hands and strode to the door. “Let’s get this show on the road then! The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go home and see no one.”

And he stepped into the room with a big grin on his electric blue face, feeling as naked as the day he had been born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! So I have a ton of work to do, but my brain was kind of fuzzy and I was hoping some good, old-fashioned fanfiction writing would sort it out :) Hence this chapter.
> 
> Yeah, so no resolution on this one. Big life adjustments take time. Hopefully Branch didn't seem too out of character; it's been a while since I've watched the movie.
> 
> @Margaret+the+third - Well, at least part of it made you laugh. :) I figured as far as little Poppy is concerned, nothing is ever her fault so it must be Branch's. Perfect logic.
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks especially to the awesome reviewers, and I had better get back to work. Til next time!  
> ~Sheisa


	18. New Hair's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #18: Coming of age sucks when you're in the middle of a beginning-life-crisis.

Branch sat on the stool with a grip that was nearly crushing the mushroom. His eyes were locked on the mirror in front of him. He couldn’t tear them away. The slightest twitch, the blink of an eyelid, the tiniest movement, and the tears might just start rolling. The only movement he made were his shivers as he tried to breathe evenly, gaze never straying from the grey figure with its new, dark grey hair for an instant.

His ears twitched as fireworks went off in the town square, celebrating the passing of another All Hair’s Eve. Cheers rose, and Branch couldn’t even find an inkling of annoyance at how loud they were being. Not right now.

He startled and felt a few fat tears drop when Acai comfortingly ran a hand through his hair, the older troll’s fingers setting each strand they touched quivering.

“It’s nicely thick,” his foster father complimented after a moment, starting to groom the new hair in earnest when Branch didn’t object. “And so strong.”

Branch had to blink, jaw rigid. “Why,” he choked out, he had to ask, “can’t I heal.” His voice broke on the last word.

Acai’s expression became sad, but he never stopped combing his fingers through Branch’s very dark, still very _grey_ strands. “Healing starts on the inside, Branch, and ends on the outside. You know this.”

Branch closed his eyes, the image of his new hair burned into his mind. It _was_ very thick, even at the top where so many other trolls’ hair turned wispy and uneven. The strands insisted on gathering together and sticking straight up, ending at the same height like a row of disciplined soldiers awaiting battle. It was like when your hair stood straight during a scare that sent your nerves tingling and your heart racing as though a lightning bolt had slammed you head over heels.

And each individual strand itself was thick and heavy, too, much stiffer than his child hair had been. His hair felt like wire as Acai coiled it around his fingers, strong like steel, capable of locking anything in an iron grip. Every twist of his head felt strange as the forest of spears on top shifted too, ready to defend its owner from all the creatures lurking out there, no matter whether they lived in the forest or in his mind.

He could feel the tension in them as Acai ran his fingers over them, testing their strength, marveling at their incredible texture. He had to restrain himself from lashing out, from letting his hair solidify around the other adult’s hands like rock, or grab those intrusive fingers and shove them away. Every brush sent warning signals down his spine and reignited that terrible, terrible fear he’d worked so hard to let go off, to escape from.

“Please stop,” he choked out. Acai paused, but mercifully pulled his hands out and gently brought his foster son into an open, one-armed embrace. Branch buried his face in his knees, unable to hold his head and its ugly crown of negativity up anymore.

“You’ll heal eventually,” Acai comforted. “You’ll see.”

But Branch felt in his very bones, in a place even deeper than the fear could reach, that he never would. This was who he was. These were his true colors now, and he could never change.

On the All Hair’s Eve fifteen years later, Branch was neatly folding his hair into a round box to keep locked away in his bunker. He drank in the color, committing the midnight blue with the purple tint to memory, even as the sun set and he felt the prickle of his new hair growing. But in the end, he tucked the box away, and faced the mirror almost eagerly.

And there it was.

The bluebell shape had been pretty, but his militant hairstyle suited him much better in his opinion. He pulled a lock down and grinned broadly at the tough, wiry texture. Not as thick as before, he noted, but a little stiffer. Much better than the soft, shreddable locks of his bluebell hair. And finally, the color was a glorious blue so dark it was almost black – with just a touch of purple. With a mere thought, he returned it to his original color, the cosmic blue-purple.

But in the end, well…

He let the vibrant shade fade away and strode from his bunker with a smirk to celebrate with the other trolls.

These were his true colors now, and he never wanted them to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am itching to write something, and have a few spare moments! (Sorry it's been 3/4 of a year; school is school.) But not many ideas striking my fancy. So if you have any prompts, let them be known. Going back through the comments, I've got:
> 
> ~First meeting, from Poppy's pov  
> ~Broken-hearted Branch soon after Grandma Rosiepuff's death  
> ~The Snack Pack reacting to Branch's colors (although tbh, I don't think they would remember that story 7 or 8 yrs later)  
> ~Little Poppy/Branch kids  
> ~A heaping lot of praise that made my heart melt! You all rock :) Thanks for helping to re-inspire me!
> 
> ~SheisaCShelz


	19. Trolls and Trollhunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy didn't know what she ran into last night. All she knows is it was mean, and she wants to give it a piece of her mind! Thus begins the Secret Order of the Troll Hunters, Youth Division.

_Ding!_

“Hug time!” Princess Poppy screamed, and launched herself at her two bestest friends, locking them in a hug that not even a bearburgle would have been able to escape. Guy Diamond gagged and Smidge laughed, returning the iron grip with a fierce squeeze of her own. “Come on come on come on!” Poppy urged impatiently as she herded her two bestest friends to the edge of the village.

“But Po-oppy-,“ Guy Diamond tried to protest.

“All butts to the forest, pronto!” the young pink troll insisted, glancing over her shoulder to check that the adults weren’t looking. Most of them were still hugging, unaware of the little group heading for the shade of the trees.

“Where are we going?” Smidge asked, curiously falling in step with Poppy. Guy Diamond struggled hopelessly.

“Shhh!” Poppy hushed, and pulled them around a boulder just at the edge of the village and promptly used her hair to conceal them from prying eyes and ears.

Guy Diamond gasped as the pink strands shot up and over like a parachute, creating a perfect little hideaway. Poppy grinned with pride at his amazement before getting down to business.

“Alright!” the Princess declared. “I call this Gathering of Youths to order!”

Smidge raised her hand instantly.

“Starting with Smidge!”

The tiny troll piped up, “That’s a boring name. Can’t we have something more exciting?” Guy Diamond nodded in agreement.

“We’ll get back to that,” Poppy promised, practically vibrating with impatience. “But this is important! The other night, I was in this very forest-“

The other two trollings’ eyes grew wide.

“When…”

“You got attacked by a Bunglebird!” Smidge guessed.

“Yo-u got barfed o-on by a Foamflower?” Guy Diamond tried, his voice rising and falling in perfect steps.

“Nope!” Poppy leaned in close to whisper. “…I met _a troll who hates singing_.”

The little hideaway rang with dead silence.

“…Oh my god.”

“You said the H-word…” Guy Diamond whispered, eyes horrified.

 _“Yes!”_ Poppy bounced up and down on her heals and struggled to keep the hair-achute from disappearing. “He told me he _hated_ my singing.”

“But your si-ing-nging is ama-a-zing!” Guy Diamond protested.

Smidge nodded in agreement, looking fierce. “Who is this troll?” she demanded. “We’ll set him straight!”

“That’s the thing!” Poppy exclaimed. “I have no idea who he was! One instant, he’s there, and I hardly noticed him because, well, singing-“

The other two nodded, completely understanding.

“-And then, right in the middle of my verse, I hear this terrible, terrible scream!”

“Like a banshee?” Smidge wanted to know. “Or was it like a siren? You know, those things can make your ears bleed if you’re close enough!”

Guy Diamond edged a little closer to Poppy, feeling a little uncomfortable at how excited Smidge looked.

“Like-,” Poppy paused and drew the scream back from her memory. It had startled the sprinkles out of her, and scared her to her core. “I dunno, it just frightened me so badly. And I did what any decent troll would do, right? Asked him if he was okay.”

“And what did he-e-e do-o?” Guy Diamond asked.

Poppy stomped her foot. “He started screaming at me! All about how I was going to get eaten, and how he hated my music! He was so, so mean! And it was evening, so the sun was starting to go down, and it was getting really dark, and I was so scared! And I felt really, really bad afterward,” she confessed, “like a rotten razzleberry. And I don’t know why!”

She smiled a little when Guy Diamond drew her into a hug.

Smidge pounded a fist into her palm, looking furious with whoever had upset her best friend. “But you don’t know what happened to him or who he was? Seriously?”

Poppy shrugged. “That was the weirdest thing! One minute he’s all in my face, and the next he just disappears! Poof! Like magic! I blinked, and he was _gone_.”

“What color was this guy? Please tell me you at least remember that!”

Poppy drew her knees in. “I – don’t know. It was really weird. It was like he didn’t have any!”

Guy Diamond drew back. “Wha-at?”

“Yeah,” Poppy said, beginning to tic off on her fingers. “He wasn’t brick red, or burgundy, or burnt orange, or buttercup yellow, or lavender, or royal purple, or sky blue, or leaf green, or mushroom pink, or pastel blue, or-“

Smidge gasped. “Oh my god! Oh. My. God. Guys, what if…it was…,” and here she leaned forward intently, “the Grey Troll?”

Poppy and Guy Diamond frowned in utter incomprehension.

“You haven’t heard of the Grey Troll?”

The other two shook their heads.

Smidge chuckled darkly and stared at them head-on. “The Grey Troll is an urban legend,” she said, pitching her young voice as low as it would go. “No one knows who he is, or where he comes from…Some say he’s a deformed troll whose pod grew in the darkest pit in the forest! Others say he’s a demon from the Other Side, who escaped the Ancestors. And some think he’s a Bergen in troll’s clothing!” She grinned with all her teeth at the wide-eyed looks of her audience. The pod felt dark, like it was the last light in a ravaged world. “The monster stalks the forest, desperately trying to reach the village each night! Any troll he meets is doomed – he lures his unsuspecting victims to his home in the woods, and sucks the happiness out of them like a vampire until there’s nothing left! And then-!”

“Um…Smidge?”

Smidge blinked, abruptly coming back to herself. “What?”

Poppy pointed at Guy Diamond, who had fainted at her feet.

Smidge shrugged. “Well that’s what Mommy told me.”

Poppy frowned. “I dunno, Smidge. Maybe he was grey, and he was definitely scary. But a happiness vampire?”

_A bloodcurdling scream of fear. Then a frantic rant as the strange troll gestured wildly, jerkily, screaming bloody murder at her. Poppy had never met anyone like this, charged up with so much anger and bile. The whole idea stunned her, the thought of living that way making her pensive and leaving a vile taste in her mouth, as though all the sugar she had eaten had turned sour._

“You said you felt rotten afterwards,” Smidge pointed out.

“I…I guess,” Poppy agreed. That was very true.

But something didn’t feel right.

“I don’t know, Smidge,” Poppy said again. “He just felt like a crazy, not-happy troll. I don’t think he’s actually that dangerous…”

Smidge’s eyes narrowed. “That’s just what he wants you to believe,” she promised, voice low.

“O-ooo-ooh,” Guy Diamond groaned.

“Well either way, I want to find him and give him a piece of my mind!” the Princess declared. “Monster or not, that’s no excuse to go running around terrorizing and screaming at people and making them not happy!”

“YES!” Smidge leaped up. “Monster hunt!”

Guy Diamond groaned again.

“Don’t worry,” Poppy said gently, patting him on the shoulder. Some glitter flakes fell off and settled on the ground. “I’m sure he’s not really a monster, just some stodgy troll who needs to remember to be happy!”

“Nobody knooooows~,” Smidge sang in a spooky voice.

“Stop!” Guy Diamond pleaded. “O-kay, I will he-elp you find this th-i-ing, but if he-e attacks us, I-I’m run-ni-ning for the vi-illage!”

Poppy nodded regally. “Sir Diamond, it takes bravery to even begin such a quest. We are thankful for your service!”

“Coward,” Smidge shot out. “I’ll take it head on!” she roared, leaping up to her full, tiny little height. “I’m with you, Princess Poppy! TO THE DEATH!”

“To-o the first scratch!” Guy Diamond cheered.

“So.” Smidge turned to the Princess expectantly. “What’s the plan?”

Poppy beckoned them close, and thus began the First Gathering of the Secret Order of the Troll Hunters, Youth Division.

Smidge raised her hand.

“Yes, Hunter Smidge?”

“For the record, I don’t really like the name ‘Secret Order of the Troll Hunters’ either…”

“Seconded,” Guy Diamond chimed in.

Poppy puffed a bang out of her face. “So it’s a working title! Focus, guys!”

They designed glitter traps. They practiced hiding tikkis and plotted cures. They argued over bindings and totems, and weaknesses the monster had that they could exploit. They were a determined group on a mission, ready to defend trollkind and rescue the poor soul on the brink. Bonded by friendship and loyalty, they knew they could succeed and nothing would ever stop them!

A little ways away, Branch snorted to himself – quietly of course – and rolled his eyes, unspottable amongst the mushrooms he was harvesting. His ears twitched as, clear as day, Princess Poppy the Pink from last night, the brat who had given him such a scare, started arguing with Smidge over whether he was toxic to the touch or not, and if they could use their hair to bind him or if they would need to braid some vines, and if even that would be strong enough to hold him. Like he couldn’t understand them perfectly, or see them through the princess’s hair, the young strands far too thin to provide any sort of cover. And too obnoxiously colored to miss, too!

Their prey snorted to himself again as he stalked away, keeping to the edges of the village. “Some troll hunters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this hits on what Poppy saw in the first meeting (a little) and how the Snack Pack would see grey Branch at first (a little; I theorize that this is the beginnings of the Snack Pack and that some of the members are too young to even talk yet).
> 
> To my reviewers, glad I could put a smile in someone's day!


	20. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creek's betrayal hurt some more than others.

Creek’s betrayal hurt. It hurt everyone, as Creek had built himself up to be a well-liked, utterly admired character. No one could wrap their mind around the idea that such a perfect troll could so selfishly sacrifice his entire people to save his own skin. Fear did strange things to people – Branch was proof of that, wasn’t he? – but to drive such a well-balanced, peaceful troll so completely out of his mind, well, it must have been terrifying.

But it hurt the Snack Pack more. Only they (plus Branch) knew what Creek’s damning words had been, and by some unspoken agreement, they kept it between themselves. The cool nonchalance, the uncaring reasoning – as much as they wanted to believe it, they knew Creek hadn’t been driven out of his mind. He had been perfectly himself when he offered them up, and the thought of how they had given the slimy traitor their unquestioning trust haunted them, made them squirm on the inside like, as Poppy had uncharacteristically described with imagery that made even Branch wince, ‘a dying, half-rotted worm trapped in a Venus Snaptrapper.’

“Yep,” Cooper had agreed. Cooper was the quickest to cut ties with their former friend. “He’s out of the Snack Pack fam!”

It struck Branch like a thunderbolt then that there was one group of people feeling even worse than the Snack Pack, and perhaps who needed him right now even more than the Snack Pack. And that is how the humming crickets and cicadas found Branch meandering hesitantly down a certain branch that night. He took his time and observed each knot and moss clump with interest, noting how much Stumpy the third had grown. The bark was more gnarly than he remembered, the moss a deeper, more mature green. A soft golden light shone through the small window, the bonsai trees casting long shadows from their spots on the windowsill and around the door. The sleepy beetle on the welcome mat lazily opened an eye as he tiptoed up.

“Shh,” Branch whispered almost silently, holding a finger to his lips. He was sure the family beetle didn’t recognize him, but it turned its back on him anyway and proceeded to go back to sleep, not making a peep and leaving the stranger to announce himself.

Branch took a deep breath and let it out slowly, giving himself a full count of sixteen just as they had taught him. Then he raised his hand to knock.

When the door opened, Branch abruptly stood eye-to-eye with a very familiar, if aged, troll.

“…Hello,” the older troll greeted him, smile weary.

Branch unsuccessfully tried to say something, coughed and then cleared his throat. “H-hi…Acai.”

Some life returned to Acai’s eyes. “My Ancestors, _Branch?_ ”

“Y-yep,” Branch croaked out, doing his best to take it in stride. “It’s me.” He wanted to believe his foster father hadn’t recognized him because of his true blues, but some small, guilty part of him thought it was more because he hadn’t come within eyesight of the acolyte in ten years.

He opened his mouth to say something else, couldn’t figure out what to say, and so simply closed it again, avoiding eye contact. But he could feel Acai’s eyes drinking him in, scouring every inch of him, from his hair to his toes and his aura, and while it felt absolutely invasive, and more than a little scary, he let his foster father have it.

Then before he knew it, he suddenly had an armful of old troll as Acai flung himself out his door, tripped over the sleeping beetle, and fell straight into Branch’s arms.

“BACON AND EGGS!” Branch cursed. “Careful, Acai! And as for you,” he directed at the beetle, “Shoo.”

The beetle gave them both a most offended look but scuttled away to find a better place to rest without comment.

Acai laughed – loudly. “Fast reflexes as ever, my boy! Oh! I am so _happy_ – BERRY! CYBIL, COME SEE! BRANCH HAS RETURNED!”

“Oh my Ancestors,” Branch deadpanned, ears pinned as far away as they would go. “Acai, get back inside before you make a scene. It’s the middle of the night! In,” he insisted. “In!”

The old geezer laughed even harder, smile stretching so wide Branch’s cheeks hurt just looking, and Branch had to pick him up and carry him into the pod himself as the old acolyte cackled away.

“Look at you!” Acai cried as Branch shut the door behind them and swung the shutters closed for some privacy. “Mother henning your old guardian! Oh, it _is_ you, you wonderful, wonderful boy!”

“Stop! Bouncing! Around! You’re too old to be – you’re going to run into something, you crazy – are you _dancing?_ ” Branch laughed despite himself, whatever awkward tension he had carried melting away. “What are you doing!”

“Can’t an old troll EXPRESS himself!” Acai declared, throwing his arms wide open. “You don’t like hugging, and you don’t like singing,” he lamented, “dancing’s all I’ve got left! Allow me that!”

“Nope,” Branch decided and didn’t bother to give any warning before he pounced on the old troll and pinned him in place with the particular type of hug he always had hated as a kid. “No dancing for you.”

The way Acai easily accepted the hug and how the deep purple troll buried his face in Branch’s shoulder told him just how much he had been missed and how right he had been to come back, and it made some part of his heart glow a little brighter to know he was bringing somebody such joy. The blue-teal troll squeezed a little tighter and allowed himself to take comfort in his old guardian’s presence. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

The perfect moment was ruined when someone cleared their throat and Branch’s eyes snapped up. “Aunt Cybil!”

The elder guru smiled winningly at him. “Hello, my Eye! Do I get a proper greeting?”

Branch grinned and tried to pull away but Acai whined and clutched him all the tighter. The acolyte yelped when his sister abruptly scowled and poked him, her reach more than doubled by her cane.

“Don’t be a spoiled brat, brother mine! Share!”

When Acai still refused to let go, Branch rolled his eyes, picked the other troll up, and walked, swaying, to the guru. “Here we are,” he declared triumphantly.

“Hold on,” his aunt said, and delivered a swift set of jabs at her brother. “You still have a nasty leech on you! Let me help you get it off.”

“Ouch! _Ouch!_ OUCH!” Acai tumbled to the ground.

“There,” his sister declared, and then threw her cane to the ground after him and swept up to Branch with arms spread wide.

Branch laughed and engulfed her in another hug to rival a bear, breathing in her comforting lavender scent. It tickled peaceful memories, maybe not happy memories, but good memories of advice, and care and lo-

Cybil tapped the back of his head, abruptly throwing his train of thought off. “Sappy doesn’t suit you, my Eye,” she whispered. “But happiness certainly does. I’m so glad for you.”

Branch pulled away, and maybe he wasn’t up to anymore hugs – and neither Cybil nor Acai pressed him for one even though he could tell they so deeply wanted to hold him some more – but he graced them with a happy smile he didn’t know he had. “Thanks, Aunt Cybil.”

The siblings smiled back. Then Acai leaped up again.

“I can’t believe it! FINALLY! I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! BERRY! BERRYYYYY!” And off he went, dashing down the steps deeper into the hollow.

“Old age made him very young, didn’t it?” Branch noted.

Cybil snorted. “Please. My brother’s always been an over-exuberant little goof on the inside.”

Branch raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Really? I don’t remember either of you being so playful, to be honest.”

“Hmm,” Cybil hummed. “Well you were never one to appreciate our antics before. And you’ve just made him very, _very_ happy.”

“I’m glad. I thought that maybe seeing me would make him upset,” Branch admitted. “I haven’t exactly been the greatest son these past ten years.”

Cybil squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter to him. We knew you would leave when you became an adult. You were never cut out for village life. You were angry and sad and confused, and we didn’t truly know how to help you. We knew we’d have to let you go. But then you came back, and you’ve grown up so well, and you’re happy – that’s all that he ever dreamed of.”

Branch coughed, embarrassed, and looked away, his cheeks glowing a touch brighter at the praise.

“Come now, all those warm soft fuzzy feelings aren’t going to make you melt,” Cybil stated, tone switching from comforting to teasing in a flash.

“Ha ha.” Branch floundered for a different topic and then frowned as he remembered who they were waiting for. His grip on Aunt Cybil’s hand tightened. “Ahhh…what about Berry? I know I was never her favorite, but. Um. Is she doing okay? Do you think my presence will help her?”

Cybil’s mouth did that twisty thing it did whenever she didn’t like the answer. “Creek’s betrayal hit her hardest of all. She feels guilty, for whatever reason. She feels guilty about how she treated you too, you know.”

Branch’s heart sank. “So I’ll just make her feel even worse?”

Cybil jerked her head toward the stairs and twitched her ears. Branch’s ears swiveled as well as he heard a cane tapping up the steps, and slow, heavy footsteps.

“-is back!” came Acai’s excited voice. “He’s back, Berry! Oh, you have to see him!”

The aging couple rounded the spiral and came into sight. For all his exuberance, Acai was gently leading his wife by the hand, mindful of her slow pace. As she wobbled, Branch saw that Berry had aged much more poorly than her husband and sister-in-law. Slightly stooped, and relying heavily on her cane (whereas Cybil seemed to use it to add to her stylish flair rather than out of necessity), she had withered in body and, as rubbish as Branch was at reading auras, in spirit. Her skin had lost its healthy glow, and her hair looked frizzed and brittle. He shot a sharp glance at Cybil as she approached, but Cybil’s face was unreadable, and when he looked back, there Berry stood, right in front of him, squinting a little as though she was having trouble seeing him.

Branch coughed awkwardly, feeling like he would have to speak up or nothing would ever happen. “Hi, Berry. I came to visit. I’m so sorry about Creek. I know how much you love him, and I just wanted to try to help. You’ve, you know, I know I was gone-“ Okay, he didn’t need to remind her of that!

“Ahem, I know I wasn’t-“ your favorite son, or really your son at all. Thank the Ancestors he zipped his mouth shut before that came out!

“I mean,” he tried one final time, looking at Acai and Cybil for support, “you still have me.”

Her response was painfully slow. Branch didn’t dare so much as twitch when she reached out to hold his hand.

“Welcome home, Branch.” Branch almost jumped at how such a powerful timbre could come from such a frail body, and he met her eyes, suddenly slightly more focused, and a little livelier, just like Acai’s. It made him feel hopeful. “I thought a lot about what I would say to you when you returned. You grew into an amazing, wonderful person, Branch, and I am so sorry I couldn’t see that in you when you were a child, and that I never loved you the way a mother should.”

Branch shifted uncomfortably, but as easy as it would have been to rip his hand away, he felt compelled to stay.

“And I don’t say that just because you saved us and regained your colors,” she added, and Branch could tell that she meant it, his heart rising a little more. “I saw it years ago, but I never tried to nurture it like I should have. I focused so much on- on Creek, and I didn’t do right by you, by either of you in the end.”

Berry couldn’t seem to look him in the eye anymore.

“I’ve lost Creek, but I’m glad I didn’t completely lose you too. Please forgive me, Branch.”

And there it was. This was what Branch had come to do. Berry had hardly finished when Branch gently wrapped her up in a soft hug. He wasn’t quite ready to receive one yet, but he was happy to give it.

“I forgive you,” he told her, and took her by the hand that wasn’t holding the cane. “Come on, sit down,” he coaxed. Cybil and Acai followed them to the fireflowers that sent up sparks in the hearth. Berry settled on the poof closest to them and Acai settled on the floor next to her. Cybil cheerfully pulled over a poof for herself and her nephew, and the three heartbroken adults listened to the happy adventures of the son who returned long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too thrilled with the ending, but it was impossible to give Berry and Branch a sweet moment because they never had a great relationship...Anyway. Happy holidays, everyone!  
> ~Sheisa


	21. Kisses in Neverland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy comes back from a very trying diplomatic mission in Bergentown. Branch reemerges from his bunker like a hibernating chipmunk at the return of spring. As usual, they spend the evening together. It ends unusually intimately.

Their hands swung between them and Poppy felt a spring in her step that had been missing for days as they walked down the wide branch together. Next to her, Branch had a content smile on his face, gaze going somewhere into the forest, ears flicking this way and that to take in the night droning of the insects and rustling of the leaves and the incessant chatter of Queen Poppy, whom he had sorely missed.

“-and he was SO _huge_!” Poppy exclaimed. “Like, WOW huge! I nearly DIED of fright! Like, I mean I wasn’t scared,” she laughed, “’cause it’s the Bergens, and they’re our friends, but seriously, it was so terrifying! I am _soooooo_ glad to be back here!”

“Hm,” Branch commented when she paused. Poppy smiled to herself when she felt him squeeze her hand, his grip warm and reassuring.

“So yeah…But it’s all good! There weren’t any riots, or house fires or unmended left socks, and I think everyone had a smile on their face when I left Bergentown!” she announced decisively.

“You always bring a smile to my face,” Branch commented, almost absently. They both froze when the compliment slipped out and Branch stole a glance at her before locking his gaze on the farthest star on the horizon. His eyes went wide and his lips pressed into a straight line, no smile to be found.

Poppy leaped into the moment headfirst before it could get awkward. “But you’re not smiling,” she pointed out. Literally.

She poked him in the corner of his mouth, pushing his cheeks up. “Where is it? Do I make you smile, Branch? Do I?” Poke. “Do I?” Poke. “Do I, Branch?”

“Enough, enough!” Branch ordered, the corners of his mouth tilting up.

“Oh, I think I see it!” Poppy squealed, running in place in excitement.

“Yeah, yeah.” Branch rolled his eyes, but it was completely ruined by the fact that he was smiling, and quite broadly, too. He firmly grabbed Poppy’s hand and Poppy nearly jumped with glee as they continued their way on their walk.

“So what happened while I was gone?” she questioned, still in a playful mood. “Did the Smorgas Festival go well?”

“Yep.”

“…And Guy Diamond, he and DJ Suki had a performance, right? I am so sad I couldn’t make it! Tell me everything.”

“Uhh…I didn’t go.”

“What! Why not?”

“Just didn’t feel up to it. Nothing major,” he hastened to assure her. “I just needed to take a day to myself, you know.”

“Well, okay.” Poppy thought hard. “Right! What about your friend’s birthday party? It was Aspen’s, right?”

Branch shrugged. “Yeah. Wished him a happy birthday.”

“Good grief, Branch!” Now it was Poppy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Come on, I’ve told you everything about my trip to Bergentown! Give me something!”

“Why do we have to talk? Here’s a thought: why don’t we just sit here quietly, and enjoy each other’s company? Look, the sky’s amazing tonight,” Branch answered, gesturing to the brilliant stars beyond the end of the branch. It really was beautiful.

Poppy crossed her arms but didn’t resist when he lightly pushed her to sit down on the bark and joined next to her. Their feet dangled off the edge beside each other and she was surprised when he put an arm around her, drawing her close. He wasn’t usually so touchy-feely…

“Branch. Did you miss me?”

After a second, he leaned his head against hers. “Hm,” he answered, giving her hand another light squeeze.

Poppy smiled wryly to herself and leaned against him too. “You could have just said so.” But of course he didn’t, because he was Branch, and Branch didn’t have feelings. Even she wasn’t privy to all of his feelings.

“I missed you,” he answered, the honest words hanging in the air like feathers.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I figured. I missed you too.”

It was in this perfect moment when both of their hug bracelets dinged, the harmonic tones mingling in the night air. Without any hesitation, almost as though he had been waiting for it, Branch stood up, wrapped his arms around her, and made her heart glow when he hugged her as though she was the most precious thing in his world. She hugged him back fiercely, more grateful than she could say to be away from those massive, unhappy, unhuggable Bergens and back in his arms.

A tone sounded in her head.

“Whenever I was frightened…”

“Or ever felt alone~,” Branch added, chin on her shoulder.

“I turned to the night sky, and a star, I caaalll my o-o-own…”

“Somewhere I could run to~, just across the Milky Way, ayeaeeey…”

“If you like I could take you-ou; it’s just a light year, and a day,” Poppy promised, swaying them left and right to the music.

Neither of the trolls wanted to let go as the music continued and so they danced and sang while still locked in the embrace.

“We can sail, away, tonight,” Poppy sang. “On a sea of pure moonlight…”

Just like the moonlight that shined down on them now, illuminating Branch’s illustrious dark purple hair and bringing out the very light dusting of glittery freckles on his cheeks. But it was the light in his eyes as he looked down on her that made her fall, completely lost.

“We can navigate the stars, to bring us back home.” She twirled in his arms, pulling in close, and each step rang with a chime. “In a place so far away…we’ll be young, that’s how we’ll stay…Every wish, is ou-our command…when we find ourselves, in Never – Neverland~.”

Branch’s hand sneaked to the back of her shoulder, and his left grabbed her right and they were so very close as they began to waltz in earnest, the words mingling in the air between them.

“Through all my make belie-e-eve, there’s some reality~, yeah~,” Poppy continued.

“In your reflection,” Branch returned, “there’s much more than you see~.”

“All that you hope for~,” they sang together, “you hope for today….Is the love someone gives you, in an, unconditional waaaay.”

The scenery circled around them as they danced, and it was either sheer luck or a long-embedded instinct that kept them on the branch as they breezed down and around, and who knows, maybe even upside-down. Poppy certainly wasn’t staring at their feet, too caught in Branch’s shy but tender, questioning gaze.

“Picture a land, you’ll never have seen…where life is eternal and ever-green,” Poppy imagined.

“Future of happiness all in our hands,” Branch promised. “All in this place we created, that we’ll call Neverlaaaaaand~!”

Poppy didn’t know how they made it down to the ground. All she knew was that they were sweeping across the mushroom, the floor a bioluminescent crème, and that Branch’s hand was supporting her back, and it was a good thing, too, because his lips were close to hers and his words, their words, no, their song brought her to a land she never wanted to leave.

“Here we are, hand in my hand! I am closer, now, to finding…Neverlaaaand~!”

“And with your hand in my hand,” Branch repeated, twining their fingers together. He stepped even closer. “I am closer now to finding…Neverlaaaaand….”

“Neverlaaaand…Oh,” Poppy said softly, her question answered.

The last ‘Neverland’ of the song was lost when the two trolls leaned in and shared their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I shall leave the kiss up to your imagine, at least for now ;)
> 
> Have to say I don't like writing lyrics in stories - I'm a musician, and it often feels like the song's beauty is sucked dry because I love me my instrumental songs. All grammar and misspellings and wacky things are me trying to give it some color. Buuuut I've been obsessing over Zendaya's Neverland, and I couldn't get the silly image of Branch hugging Poppy and not wanting to let go and them waltzing around as a result out of my head. Neverland would be a beautiful song to waltz to.
> 
> Also I totally didn't intend for it to be their first kiss, but there was no way it wasn't happening. So there you go. Write you all later!
> 
> ~Sheisa


	22. Poppy the Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch had countless Emergency Plans prepared for every possible tragedy...except the tragedy of a grey Poppy.

Would you be surprised if you knew that Branch has a contingency plan for this situation? You’d think it was crazy, but that’s him: crazy-prepared.

It’s Emergency Plan No. 832, for use when the entire village is captured by the Bergens in their cursed cooking pot, there’s no chance of escape, they don’t have any weapons, and the royal family has been eaten or otherwise killed. The trolls are plunged into darkness, both literally and metaphorically, and Branch is to step up, organize a Distraction squadron made of brave trolls that would bite and blind the Bergens, a Glitter squadron to create further confusion, and a Rescue Line. The chances of it working are very small but after days of debate and historical study of King Perky’s strategy and tactics, he is sure this would give them the greatest chance of success. At the least, he is positive there would be some survivors. And maybe these survivors would finally understand the dangers of singing themselves into blind euphoria and build bunkers and emergency plans of their own.

Well. The entire village has been captured and they are indeed inside of that abominable, repulsive cooking pot the Bergens paraded around each Trollstice. The metal bottom is cold and dented beneath his feet.

There is no chance of escape. The pot is under constant supervision – he can hear that monster and her lackeys stomping around easily.

They don’t have any weapons. He lost his pack ages (hours?) ago and of course nobody else carries any.

The royal family is not eaten. But King Peppy is not the troll he once was, and Poppy…

Poppy is not the same, either.

Branch looks at the village all around him and what he sees makes his heart sink in his chest like lead. In all of his plans, his fellow trolls are unfailingly colorful. Yes, he had wanted them to listen, and yes, he drove himself crazy trying to get them to understand, but he never, ever, _never_ would have asked for this. Seeing them as grey as he is…it hits close to home in a way he had never expected. It…it’s like watching the Bergen walk away with his Grandmother one more time. It utterly breaks his heart. It makes Emergency Plan No. 832 suddenly seem pointless. Emergency Plan No. 832 will save a few lives, surely.

But it won’t save anyone’s soul.

Branch treasures his plans. They are worth their weight in gold to him, because he has made a plan for every. Single. Scenario. Every problem, every disaster, every tragedy. Except this one.

The world flipped upside-down so abruptly, it makes him want to laugh at the irony and cry at the impossibility. He can surely teach them how to gag a Bergen and where to bite so that you hit that special nerve. He’s been preparing for this day since he was twelve. But teaching them how to fight the hopeless depression in their own minds…he can hardly fight his own. Ancestors, he can’t fight his own. In truth, it’s Poppy, Poppy and her unrelenting optimism and inexhaustible energy and her endless compassion that fights his dark days. She’s always been there for him, handing out another card or screaming the latest song into his ear. Dragging him to the traditional festivals. Blackmailing him into the sleepovers and bonfires. Defending him from the village. Defending him from _himself_. Challenging him to fight, whether it’s the latest party plans or the suffocating sadness. Poppy is the key.

He feels like crying, staring at her with her color drained away, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped.

Now it’s his turn to lead the way and show her life isn’t just grey (there’s a lot of pink, too), but he hasn’t sung in over twenty years. The space in his imagination where melodies and songs would come together like a picture is full of cobwebs and silence. It takes so long, forever, for just the one line to start. And then the only way he can cough it up and get it past his lips is focusing on Poppy:

“You with the sad eyes…”

His voice echoes a little in the pot, bouncing off the metal walls. Nobody can tell where it comes from at first. Nobody recognizes it. Much less him.

“Don’t be discouraged,” he offers.

It physically hurts, when Poppy looks away. He kneels beside her, and gentle as can be, he gets her to look at him. He tries to look reassuring, and he lets the lyrics fill his head and the world fade out, and he tells her:

“Oh, I realize, it’s hard to take courage. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all. The darkness inside you can make you feel so small.”

He remembers what it was like to be five all over again. It’s dark, and the people he’s always depended on have been snatched away and he’s scared.

He’s twenty-five now, and suddenly…he isn’t so scared anymore. The words come easily now, the song flows forward.

Poppy’s bracelet dings, and it’s Branch’s turn to insist on a hug. But he doesn’t push, and he doesn’t insist. He simply, for the first time, offers, and when Poppy looks away and refuses, he perseveres.

The bracelets encourage him on, filling the melody perfectly.

“Show me a smile, then,” he asks, taking her hands and guiding her to her feet, staying gentle. “Don’t be unhappy. Can’t remember when, I last saw you laughing.”

She’s just like him. She runs, moving a few steps away, refusing to face him.

“This world makes you crazy-,” and he goes for a corny slide on his knees and a kooky, one-sided grin, and there, there! He has her attention, “-and you’ve taken all you can bear, just…”

He only hesitates because it’s the melody.

“Call me up, ‘cause I will always be there.”

And she doesn’t turn him away. She doesn’t turn him away!

Her bubbly pink color returns and his heart suddenly beats again when she looks at him even before it reaches her face, smiling and energetic once more. The chorus comes out just as gentle and tender, and so, so easily and where once there was a gargantuan, disfigured, clawed hand, there’s a bright pink fuzz and happy, shining eyes:

“And I see your true colors, shining through…I see your true colors, and that’s why I love you…”

He doesn’t take it back, and she doesn’t turn away.

“So don’t be afraid, to let them show. Your true colors, true colors are beautiful~…”

Instead, they meet and she sings in a voice he’s never heard from her before, soft and gentle and tender. It makes it worth being eaten for dinner. It fills him with a peace and happiness he’s never known.

It brings his colors back to him, but he hardly cares.

All he cares about is dancing and singing with Poppy in a world of pink sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched Trolls for inspiration. How can this scene not inspire??  
> Hope you enjoyed!  
> ~Sheisa


	23. The Bergen King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Branch has a natural talent when it comes to acting.

“’Scuse me, pardon me, is anyone sitting here?”

Berry, Acai, and Cybil settled down side-by-side and waited for the show to start. Berry lifted the camera and tilted it this way and that, testing the lighting. Acai skimmed through the program, idly thumbing through the leaves until he reached the cast. Cybil sat as serenely as ever, hands folded in her lap, face forward and eyes on the mushroom stage, taking in the view.

“Look! Look, Berry, here’s Creek’s name!” Acai pointed out excitedly.

Berry glanced at his program.

 _High Acolyte……….Creek Luftruf_ , it read.

She smiled.

“And…there’s Branch!”

 _Bergen King…………Branch Bellows_.

“See! See!”

“Yes, brother mine, we can see,” Cybil answered, not even looking. “We already knew they were in the school play.”

“The paper makes it official,” Acai argued. “A momentous occasion-“

The lights on the stage suddenly turned on. Glitter sprinkled down from above.

A small, orange trolling stepped forward. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

“Ladies, and gents,” he proclaimed grandly. “Welcome, to the story that is King Perky and his legendary defeat of the Bergens!”

“Defeat!” cried a pink trolling, the second narrator of the night. “Against the Bergens? But they’re so big, and we’re so small! That’s impossible.” She shrugged and shook her head.

“Small of stature, ‘tis true! But fierce at heart!” The orange trolling shook his fist for emphasis. “His songs could make mountains dance! His dances could make clouds sing! And his hugs could turn the coldest winter night into a sunny summer day!”

“I don’t believe you.” The pink trolling turned away and crossed her arms, sticking her nose up in the air.

“You don’t believe what I’m saying?” the orange troll demanded incredulously.

“Not a bit!”

“Then will you believe…what you’re seeing?”

The two exited the ‘shroom stage in opposite directions, hands open as the curtain of troll hair lifted to reveal a scrapbooked background. It was very impressive.

Acai felt a sharp poke in his knee and nearly leapt a foot in the air.

“Look!” Cybil whispered to him. “The Princess led the props team! Pretty amazing job, huh?”

“Shhh!” Berry hissed, readying the camera.

The background showed their Troll Tree, and below it stood King Perky Himself in his gallant cape.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” a trolling cried, running to him with a basket of flowers swinging on his arms, dropping flowers everywhere. “Naty, my love, is missing! Please, you must help!”

“MISSING!” repeated the trolling playing King Perky incredulously.

“Yes! We were supposed to pick flowers and eat s’mores in the meadow, but when I got there, all I found was her basket! We must find her! Help me, Your Majesty, please!” the trolling begged.

The King snapped his fingers. A group of trolls came out of the wings. “WE WILL SEARCH IMMEDIATELY!”

“Your Majesty,” one troll said, stepping forward. “If I may say something.”

“AH! OF COURSE. MY MOST TRUSTED ADVISOR, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS?”

The High Acolyte, clothed in a wondrous robe, lifted his chin. Berry squealed very quietly and snapped off a round of photos. “It sounds as if our troll is not just missing. It sounds as though she has been kidnapped!”

The trollings gasped.

“KIDNAPPED, YOU SAY!” declared the trolling playing King Perky. Muffled giggles erupted from the audience as the ten-year-old twirled his famous mustache around a finger. “KIDNAPPED! HOW PREPOSTEROUS! BY WHOM?”

“Ooh! Oooh!” One trolling jumped frantically up and down, clearly having something to say. When she had everyone’s attention, she crouched, made a mean face, and started to sing. “I saw something last night, that didn’t used to be there-“

“A huge giant creature, with hardly any hair!” another cried.

“It had dull, warty skin-“

“It was ugly as sin!”

“And its teeth gave me such a big scaaaare!~”

“What could it be?” King Perky asked.

“Where did you see?” Creek demanded fast.

“We were so scared we stayed in the tree!” Two trollings answered, trembling together.

“Where did it go!” the king asked.

“Sir, we don’t know!” another troll cried.

“But it left mighty big footprints, come see!” Creek pointed.

The trollings huddled together and followed the trail, chanting softly and building up to a wail.

“What could it be, oh what did we see? What could it be!”

“IT WAS ME!”

The crowd gasped and a few even screamed as a window in the background slammed open. The Bergen King stuck his head out of the window on his tower. He was wearing a nasty sneer and a shining crown. Berry snapped a picture as the trollings gasped and cowered, all except King Perky. Acai stared, and then placed his hand over his face and shook his head.

“UGH! IT’S REPULSIVE, FOR SURE!”

“Just as we said!”

“THE SIGHT MAKES MY EYES SORE!”

“We can see them turning red!”

“WHAT VERMIN IS THIS?” King Perky bellowed.

“A giant, it is!” a frightened trolling cried.

“WHAT’S HE DOING RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR DOOR!”

“Your singing, and laughing, and dancing, and hugging, gets straight on my nerves, you rats!” Branch spat. “I came here to be glum, I hate all your fun, and especially your tiny bright hats!”

One trolling gasped and clutched his hat against his chest. King Perky’s hands flew to his crown protectively.

Cybil sighed and glanced off to the side. Berry had the camera up and at the ready, eager to snap pictures of her sons, especially of Creek. Acai looked like he was repenting. Her eyebrow raised as she caught sight of Miss Guffin, the schoolteacher and playwriter, standing off to the side and beaming.

She watched impassively as King Perky and the Bergen King argued and poked her brother when Branch waved around a tiny troll doll, forcing him to look up.

“You made him participate in this, you get to watch,” she hissed.

They both winced when Branch ate the fruits that made up the doll, tossed the “bones” down to the trolls, and then pasted a smile on his face that made the whole audience cringe.

“This was a mistake,” Acai moaned.

“Shh!” Berry shushed quickly, camera poised.

King Perky roared with outrage and the play continued. The tree became caged. The Bergens’ numbers grew. The trolls’ numbers shrank. And at last, King Perky held the famous Council party on the eve of the battle.

“WE WILL, WE, WILL, ROCK YOU!” Music blasted out of the shrooms. The trollings leapt with their guitars, pounded on drum sets, and made their amps wail. They were going all out, and their enthusiasm was making the stage rock quite literally. Most of the adults in the audience had even joined in with the classic.

“WE WILL, WE WILL-“

The music abruptly cut, the electronics whining as a wire was pulled out.

The crowd gasped as the Bergen King stepped out of the stage smoke.

“What-“ King Perky gasped.

Branch smirked. “Hello, trolls. Nice party.”

“Uhhh…” the trolling stuttered. “Miss Guffin, he’s changing the play!”

The trollings looked lost and almost as one, turned to Miss Guffin in the wings.

Miss Guffin desperately leafed through her script before turning a bright red and glaring at Branch. ‘Don’t you DARE,’ she mouthed.

Branch casually hefted a bat in his hands. The end had a flower keychain on it. “Great volume! Awesome projection. Told me exactly where to find you. And now that I’m here…”

Screams broke out as the ten-year-old suddenly swung his bat at the massive center prop, spilling food and ripping felt and paper left and right. The trollings scattered out of range, the adults gawked, and Miss Guffin stomped onto the stage.

As one, Acai and Cybil put their faces in their hands. Berry’s mouth fell open.

Miss Guffin’s shriek joined the children’s as Branch scampered around, making her trip over the various wires and props in the way until she was wrapped up like a Trollmas present. None of the trollings dared to get close as Branch tore his way through the stage, destroying every single thing that was in his way.

And when he was done…

“HA!” he declared triumphantly. The rest of the cast froze. “I HAVE DESTROYED YOUR WEAPONS! I HAVE CRUSHED YOUR MORALE! I HAVE TAKEN OVER YOUR HOME, AND NOW, I, THE BERGEN KING, WILL FEAST ON YOUR PEOPLE!”

He advanced on his fellow cast members, many of whomwere clutching each other and trembling with fear. The fireflies flew in close, making firelight dance across the stage. It gleamed on Branch’s black hair, ugly gold crown, and bared teeth.

“AND IT NEVER WOULD HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE IF _YOU_ HADN’T HELD THE _LOUDEST_ , THE _CRAZIEST_ PARTY EVER! NOW!” He grinned, showing off his sharp teeth, and crouched, hands out as though he were going to chase them all down and gobble them up like a cheetah leaping on an antelope. “WHO’S _FIRST!”_

The second Branch lunged, the children raced off the stage _screaming_. Miss Guffin struggled and several adults climbed up the shroom to help her. The rest were snatching up their children. The fireflies buzzed in frantic circles, goaded on by the chaos, and their furious flight made the shadows leap erratically. Only Cybil, Acai, and Berry remained still in their seats, even as Creek raced screaming up to his mother. Berry automatically picked him up and placed him in her lap, offering him a calming hug.

“Well.” Cybil straightened out her dress. “That could have gone worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my world, Branch always gets cast as the Bergen by his fellow trolls. And he hates it.


	24. Expressions of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 10% of Broppy that isn't them fighting over things like parties and safety and pets.

_Just call me angel, of the morning, angel…_

Poppy grinned as the line of song drifted down from the mushroom entrance Branch had made for his bunker. It flew through the air as lazily and contentedly as a summer breeze.

_Just touch my cheek, before you leave me-e, ba-by…_

A disheveled Branch, hair frizzed and uncombed, came into sight on his lift. He was in his bathrobe, and had a mug of coffee in his hand and a paper under his arm.

_I’m goin’ down into the bun-ker, an-gel…_

He sang through a yawn as he shuffled towards her.

_And givin’ my angel her paper in the morning, baby…_

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, giving her a sleepy kiss on the cheek as well as the paper before he joined her at the table, eyes still only half-open.

“Awww, look at de wittle sweepy-head, being uh-fec-tion-ate,” Poppy grinned, tilting her head patronizingly. The scrapbooked paper popped open and the news jumped out at her.

Formerly half-asleep and relaxed, Branch’s expression snapped into a glare. He took a gulp of his coffee. _“No.”_

“My cheek says otherwise~,” Poppy sang, ignoring him as she skimmed the news. “Oh! Harper’s mural’s a huge hit, there’s apparently a petition to have her do another!”

“Mmf,” Branch grunted from his cup, eyes still sharp. Once he had downed the energizing elixir, he patted at his hair. “You have a meeting with Sky Toronto today, remember?” he asked, abruptly all business. “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll lay out your good hairband on the bed.”

“Thanks, hon!” Poppy called after him.

_“Hmph!”_

__

_Taaaaake oooooon meeeeee…_

Poppy grinned when she heard the local wildlife pitch in over the sound of Branch’s sander.

_Taaaaake meeeeee oooooon…_

Peaking around the blade of grass, she spotted him carefully smoothing out the wood on a chair, tools and wood shavings scattered around and utterly unaware of the world around him.

_This furniture, will be done…in a day, or twooooooo…_

“Looks great, Branch,” she complimented as she walked by.

“Thanks, Pops,” he answered absently.

Poppy gasped and Branch was abruptly staring at two wide, pink eyes instead of the chair he had been sanding for his bunker.

“Do mine ears deceive me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just give me a nickname?” she asked in a tone that threatened dire consequences.

Branch dropped his sander and gave her a flat look. “Poppyyyyyyy…,” he warned.

“YOU DID!” she shrieked. “You did you did you DID!”

“WHAT DID I DO?” Branch yelled as loudly as he could as he cranked up his power tool, drowning out his words with the buzz.

“YOU GAVE ME A NICKNAME!” she roared over his tool.

“I SAID YOU WERE LAME?!”

“YOU CALLED ME POPS!!”

“I SAID YOUR HAIR FLOPS?!”

Poppy wrinkled her nose and stomped away from the unbearable sound of the sander. Seems she had once again embarrassed him into hiding behind that gruff, uncaring façade. “Stubborn man…”

__

_Sweet dreams, are made of this…_

Poppy took in a deep breath and then sighed dreamily.

_Who am I, to disagree?_

Following her nose and her ears, she made it to the kitchen just in time to see Branch pull a batch of perfectly-baked, original flavor, triple. Chocolate. _Brownies_.

_I’ve tried so many recipes…_

He closed the oven door with a flourish and set the brownies on a cooling rack, unaware of the hungry eyes following them.

_Everybody wants a taste of these…_

The flowery oven mitts were tossed onto the counter, soon followed by the flowery apron and Poppy didn’t have time to hide as Branch strode out the kitchen and past her to the living room. In a rare, historical moment, though, he wasn’t suspicious at all despite her guilty glance at his brownies. Instead, he brushed shoulder against hers in passing, entwining their fingers for the briefest of moments, and simply said, “Hey, Pops, just finished brownies for date night. I’ll pack the picnic baskets, yeah?” and went on his way.

Poppy didn’t move for a solid five minutes, the phantom touch leaving tingles all up and down her arm and her mind pleasantly buzzed.

__

_Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?_

Poppy nearly dropped everything she was holding as she turned the corner and found Branch sweeping his floor, head bobbing to his song.

_Ooh, heaven is a place on earth!_

He brandished his broom and spread his arms wide, eyes closed and soul bared.

_They say in heaven, love comes first…_

Poppy really did drop everything and squeak with surprise when Branch grabbed her and twirled her into a dance.

_We’ll make heaven a place on earth!_

Laughing, she joined in and the duo swept around the room, cleaning forgotten. She giggled as Branch gallantly dipped her so the tips of her hair brushed the floor.

“My my, Mr. Branch,” she played along, fluttering her eyelashes and hooking both arms around his neck. “I never knew you were such a _romantic?_ ”

Branch’s mouth twisted and he twirled her up and out of his arms in one fluid move. It was so fast it left her blinking and confused. Before she could figure out what was happening, he had already grabbed his broom and returned to cleaning, his back turned.

“Aww,” she pouted. “Don’t be like that!”

“Like what?” came the gruff response.

Poppy rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Who exactly are you trying to impress here?”

Branch glared at her over his shoulder. “I have a reputation to maintain!”

“There’s no one here but us!” Poppy pointed out.

“Hmph!” He turned back to his task faster than a striking Blossling, but Poppy still caught the blue honeyglow on his cheeks as he played the role of the grumpy village troll.

__

In all honestly, she loved waking up before Branch. A mostly-asleep, relaxed, and happy Branch was just so darn _adorable_.

“Hey, bae,” she said softly, one arm under his head and the other patting his cheek.

“Mmf,” Branch managed as he leaned into her arm and wriggled to snuggle closer.

“It’s morning,” she reminded him.

“Hmph,” he expressed, letting his eyes fall closed again and pressing his head more insistently against her arm, as though he could pin her there.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back later,” she said gently, disentangling herself as Branch’s face pulled into an unhappy grimace, eyes still closed.

“Promise,” she added, leaning down to press a kiss against his temple as she climbed out of bed.

“’Mkay, love you, stay safe,” he mumbled almost incomprehensibly before he turned over and was promptly dead to the world once again.

The expression of affection made her cheeks glow and her eyes crinkle up with a massive smile. Her heart leapt and squealed and jumped and sang. But she didn’t make a big deal of it as she quietly left the room.

__

“So how are things going with you and Branch?” Smidge looked at her expectantly as she stirred the sugar into her tea.

“Fantastic,” Poppy beamed.

Chenille gaped. “Really?”

Satin leaned forward. _“Seriously?”_

“Huh.” Smidge judged her tea for a moment before taking a sip. “Wouldn’t have guessed it, but good for you guys.”

“What? What’s wrong with me and Branch?” Poppy asked, a little weirded out by the twins’ reaction. “Why wouldn’t it be going well?”

“Girl, he still hardly ever sings,” Chenille said. “It’s been years and he’s never joined us in an official group song, not once.”

“He’s the most paranoid, grumpiest grump in the whole world,” Satin added. “Better than he was before, but well…” She trailed off awkwardly. “Need I remind you of last week?”

They all flinched.

“Granted, he’s smooth as ice and totally on fire,” Chenille picked up, “but he just doesn’t seem like your type, Poppy. He’s not exactly Mister Romantic.”

Poppy almost laughed until she cried. “Guys! Trust me.” She stirred her cup of tea and smiled at her reflection in the liquid. “He’s amazing. After all, what if I don’t want someone romantic? What if I want someone who’s paranoid, grumpy, and entirely too practical?”

“Then I’d say you’ve definitely found him, and also that you have weird taste in men,” Satin answered, reaching for the teapot. “Now, I would want someone romantic…someone charming, with amazing looks and fashion sense…someone I can really sing with…someone-!”

Chenille covered her burning face with her hands as her sister went on and Poppy giggled again as she helped herself to another cube of sugar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was downright precious and cavity-inducing. Honestly, I miss them fighting. I really do. This felt entirely too OOC.
> 
> ~Sheisa


End file.
